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THE SHOES THAT DANCED, AND OTHER 
POEMS. i2mo, $i.io, «<?/. Postage extra. 

THE HEART OF THE ROAD, AND OTHER 
POEMS. i2mo, li.oo, net. Postage 8 
cents. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY 
Boston and New York 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
AND OTHER POEMS 



rhe 

SHOES THAT DANCED 

and Other Poems 

By anna HEMPSTEAD BRANCH 









BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 



1905 






//SO^^ 



COPYRIGHT 1905 BY ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



Published April 1Q05 



TO 

MARY A. JORDAN 
TRUE TEACHER AND DEAR FRIEND 



CONTENTS 

THE SHOES THAT DANCED I 

THE RIDERS 55 

WHILE LOVELINESS GOES BY 60 

SWEET WEARINESS 6l 

THE WOUND 62 

A SONNET FOR THE EARTH 63 

MY FOOLISH DEEDS 64 

SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY 65 

I. NEW YORK AT SUNRISE 65 

II. A POLITICAL " BOSS " 66 

III. SHAME ON THEE, O MANHATTAN . . 67 

IV. THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE 68 

TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL DRESSED FOR 

SUNDAY 69 

FORGETFULNESS 73 

THE PURITAN 75 

THE JOURNEY 79 

^ THE RETURN 83 

^KNOWLEDGE 84 

THE ROAD OF SLEEP 85 

SPRING SONG 87 

IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 90 



vui CONTENTS 

THE STORM 98 

TO DUST RETURNING . . loi 

A girl's song in the wilderness . . .107 

THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 109 

LADIES FAIR I18 

GRIEVE NOT, LADIES 120 

THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID laa 

GLADNESS 134 

\to nature 136 

^SERVICE . 137 

OH, TELL ME THAT THE BIRD HAS WINGS . .139 

FIRST SIGHT 140 

TO BEAUTY 142 

THE BLESSED HANDS OF SLEEP 143 

WHO WON THE DAY ? '144 

THE SLEEP IN GETHSEMANE 146 

MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 147 

THE COMMON LOT 151 

SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 153 

I. MY mother's clothes 153 

II. HER HANDS 154 

III. HER WORDS 155 

IV. HER STORIES 157 

eve's SONG . 159 

THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 163 

THE PILGRIM 168 

A mother's song 170 



CONTENTS ix 

CLOD OF THE EARTH . 172 

THE DREAMING MAN 173 

UNDER THE TREES 180 

ORA PRO NOBIS 185 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

Scene : Watte au's Studio, Lancret, his pupil^ 
works at a painting. Watte Au's portrait of the 
Queen, which has recently gained for him the 
appointment of Court Painter^ occupies a promi- 
nent position. There is a hurst of singings a 
clamor of voices^ and Pierrette and Faus- 
TINE, hallet dancers^ accompanied by CouRTiN, 
an artist ^frolic into the studio, 

VOICES {singing outside) 
Blossoms perish in the snow ! 
Columbine won't kiss Pierrot, 

(Shouts) 
The New Academician ! 

Court Favorite ! 

\_Enter Courtin with Faustine and Pierrette] 

ALL (singing) 
Blossoms foating in the wtne^ 
Harlequin loved Columbine / 

courtin 
Watteau ! 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

FAUSTINE 

Where is Watteau ? 



LANCRET 



PIERRETTE 



FAUSTINE 



He 's out. 



To-day ? 



Why, sir, to-day the queen comes to the studio 
To see her portrait ! 

COURTIN (looking at Watteau's portrait of the 
Queen) 

Oh, majestic Lady ! 
With all her pride and beauty painted here 
As real as life. Insolent loveliness ! 
And in her hands — for woman's vanity — 
Watteau has sketched the world ! What she will 

have, 
That she will have, — most arrogant of queens, 
That never knew denial. God himself 
Refuses her not anything at all 
Save lovely meekness. So in very truth 
This Lady has for hers the great round world 
To give or take. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 3 

FAUSTINE 

To-day she only gives. 
And Watteau has the bounty. 

COURTIN [saluting the portrait) 

To the queen — 
That rescued him from an oblivion 
Thick as Egyptian darkness. Yesterday 
He hired out to a confectioner 
And painted little Cupids upon bonbons — 

PIERRETTE 

On bons ! bons ! 

FAUSTINE 

Cupids ! 

PIERRETTE 

Watteau's masterpieces ! 

COURTIN 

To buy him bread. 

LANCRET 

Or painted — Columbines ! 

FAUSTINE (indignantly) 
The Columbine ! 



4 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

PIERRETTE 

What is there in that creature 
That artists all pursue her ! 

FAUSTINE {humming) 

Blossoms lead the April in ! 
Columbine flounced Harlequin ! 

COURTIN 

Now fortune changes, and in one brief day 

This portrait charms the eye of royalty, 

And makes Watteau the painter to the queen. 

FAUSTINE {in acclamation) 
Watteau ! 

PIERRETTE {joyoUsly) 

Court painter ! 

COURTIN 

Lancret, you are silent. 

LANCRET 
FAUSTINE 

On what, Monsieur Lancret ? 



I am at work. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 5 

LANCRET 

I paint — the queen. 

FAUSTINE 

Like great Watteau ! 

COURTIN 

Disciple ! 
You catch the master's spirit. 

LANCRET (morosely) 

No — not yet ! - — 
The dance, the dream, the fire, the poised music ! 
[Watteau enters the studio^ and joins the 
group unseen^ 
If I could see his heart — 

WATTEAU 

Look to your own. 

FAUSTINE 

Watteau ! 

LANCRET 

The master ! 

WATTEAU 

To your own, I say. 



6 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

And find perchance some spelling writ thereon 
By the hand of God. 'T will prove instructive, 

maybe, 
As aught of mine. 

LANCRET (^pointing to Watteau's portrait) 

Nay, master, I can never 
Accomplish — that, 

WATTEAU 

True ! Who in all the world 
Can paint such splendor ? I am the one Watteau 
That Heaven has achieved. 

And yet — poor humdrum ! 
Thou art not what I dreamed ! What is success ? 
Since all our triumphs are but shadows at noon 
Whereby we measure failure. Let it be ! 
I hate the work of my hands. I am not like 

God. 
I look upon it and do not find it good. 

LANCRET 

Not good ! 

FAUSTINE (^gazing at portrait) 

I beg of you, Monsieur Watteau, 
Paint me f 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 7 

PIERRETTE 

Yes — make us beautiful) Watteau — 
The little ballet dancers ! 

FAUSTINE 

Oh, Watteau ! 
Have you grown scornful now you go to court ? 

PIERRETTE 

He only strives to please great ladies ! 

FAUSTINE 

Called 
To deck the boudoir of the queen with Cupids ! 

PIERRETTE 

To charm her walls with fauns that dance ! 

FAUSTINE 

To wreathe 
Her fan with roses ! 

WATTEAU 

No. 

LANCRET 

To what then, master, 
Has the queen summoned great Watteau ? 



8 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

WATTEAU 

My friend, 
The queen has bade me to the Sistine Chapel — 

FAUSTINE 

Never ! 

PIERRETTE 

For what ? 

COURTIN 

What would she have you paint ? 

WATTEAU 

A great Madonna. 

FAUSTINE 

Toul 

PIERRETTE 

Watteau ! 

COURTIN 

But man — 
To paint — Madonnas ! 

WATTEAU 

Well — 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 9 

COURTIN 

Who could have thought 
Watteau had dreamed of this ! 

WATTEAU 

Yet I have dreamed ! 

COURTIN 

But can you do it ? 

WATTEAU 

(Producing from a box a pair of satin slippers^ 
exquisitely painted^ and handing one of them 
to Courtin) 

Look! 

COURTIN 

But this is — 

WATTEAU 

Shoes ! 

FAUSTINE 

A lady's slipper ! 

COURTIN 

Watteau turned shoemaker ! 



lo THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

PIERRETTE 

Blue satin ! 

COURTIN 

For some foolish girl to dance in. 

LANCRET 

What craft ! 

WATTEAU 

I painted Cupids round the edge. 

COURTIN 

But man — 

LANCRET 

He 's mad. Let him alone. 

WATTEAU 



Why so 



LANCRET 

These figures are perfect ! 



WATTEAU 

That is what I thought. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED ii 

COURTIN 

It 's worth a thousand francs ! 

WATTEAU 

Indeed ! 

COURTIN 

A thousand ? 
It 's worth a fortune ! Show it to the queen, 
For what she covets that she surely buys. 

LANCRET 

The fineness of it ! 'T is a masterpiece. 

COURTIN 

You can do all things ! 

FAUSTINE 

Rosebuds — butterflies — 
And little Cupids round and round about. 

LANCRET 

How nonchalant he is ! 

COURTIN 

Watteau, you fool — 
Be all distraught with it ! Roll a frenzied eye ! 



12 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

Shout out, " I did it ! " Be inebriate 
With the cup of glory. Stagger splendidly. 
Shout out, " I did it ! " 

WATTEAU 

Have you seen the sole ? 
LANCRET {turning shoe over) 
A Madonna ! 

FAUSTINE 

Ah! 

COURTIN 

Watteau, this little shoe 
Is filled with fortune — painted o'er with fame 
And immortality. 

WATTEAU 

You compliment me. 

LANCRET 

You were born for greatness. 

WATTEAU 

Yes. 

LANCRET (examining painting") 

But what a face ! 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 13 

WATTEAU 

That is my dream, to fill the Sistine Chapel, 

COURTIN 

There 's nothing out of reach. The crucifixion ! 
Archangels ! Ah — but how that blazoned chapel 
Will roar with fiery wings ! 

FAUSTINE 

Drawn on the sole ! 

WATTEAU 

What would you ? 

COURTIN 

Sketched upon a block of gold 
In lasting lineaments. Why, satin, man. 
Is a most fragile substance. 

WATTEAU 

So they say. 

PIERRETTE 

But one time round upon a polished floor 
Will ruin this splendor. 

WATTEAU 

That 's the beauty of it. 



14 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

PIERRETTE 

But a Madonna ! 

COURTIN 

On a lady's slipper ! 

WATTEAU 

To show that she for whom I made this shoe 
Owns all my craftsmanship ! I painted them 
For Columbine to dance in — 

LANCRET (^jealously) 

Columbine ! 

COURTIN {enthusiastically) 
The prettiest dancer in the whole ballet ! 
Rosebuds and Cupids, flower o' thistle down. 

"[Enter Columbine wrapped in a scarlet 
mantle'^ 
Most fragile, fine spun, silver, fitful, fair — 

COLUMBINE 

I thank you, good Courtin ! Come here, Pierrette. 
Take off my mantle. 

PIERRETTE 

I will not touch it. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 15 

COLUMBINE 

How ? 

She 's jealous ! Faustine ? 

(Faustine makes a gesture of refusal, Lan- 
CRET and CouRTiN assist in taking mantle) 
Thank you, gentlemen. 
(She shines resplendent in a ballet gown) 
I came between the acts of the rehearsal. 
The queen will be there when I dance to-night. 
Pray you, does anybody like my gown ? 



We all admire it. 



COURTIN 
PIERRETTE 

Oh, I hate this girl ! 



COLUMBINE 

She says she hates me ! 



FAUSTINE 

This air stifles me. 

COLUMBINE 



I make her sick ! The good Lord made me so. 
Is it naughty, then, to be so beautiful ? 
Monsieur Watteau — and have you any news? 



1 6 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

WATTEAU 

Look at this portrait. 

(^Displays portrait of Queen holding in her 
hands the world) 

COLUMBINE 

Well? 

WATTEAU 

So slight a thing — 
Yet it has brought me wealth, preferment, honor ! 
And that great world I painted in her hands 
She gives to me. 

COLUMBINE 

What -^- does she — 

WATTEAU 

Listen, child. 
I am made Court Painter. 

COLUMBINE {as if Startled) 

Oh, Monsieur Lancret ! 

WATTEAU 

The queen has bade me to the Sistine Chapel 
To paint — Madonnas. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 17 

COLUMBINE {indifferently) 

But, Monsieur Watteau, 
Where are the slippers that you promised me 
To dance in ? 

WATTEAU 

Child — but hear me for a moment. 
This is the day when all my dreams come true, 
And Poverty no longer with a sword 
Bids Watteau back from that high Paradise 
Wherein are mighty deeds. My hour has come. 
Great barren walls that cry aloud for wings ! 
How I will blazon them with the vast glories 
Of Heaven and Earth and Purgatory and Hell ! 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau ! The painted slippers ! 

WATTEAU 

Columbine, 
Just for a moment hear me — and rejoice ! 
Be glad for me. My dreams rush on like tem- 
pests 
Full of great sound and fire. Heaven calls me. 
Raphael says come, and Michael Angelo 
Thunders affection from St. Peter's Dome. 
The air is full of flaming robes of Titian, 



18 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

And pale sweet faces of Leonardo. Rembrandt 
Disturbs my slumber ! All the mighty visions 
I have dreamed of so long, — the wings, the 

haloes, — 
And high above the altar, pale with glory, 
My great Madonna — 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau — my satin slippers. 

WATTEAU {putting them in her hands) 
Then take them. 

COLUMBINE 

Beautiful ! 

WATTEAU 

Rosebuds and Cupids ! 

COLUMBINE 

I '11 dance before the queen. 

COURTIN 

Nay — on the sole 
Is sketched his masterpiece. 

COLUMBINE (examining sole) 
What — 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 19 

WATTEAU 

The Madonna* 

COLUMBINE 

Painted for me ! Oh ! if the queen could see 

them 
How she would envy them — the satin slippers. 
That are the ballet dancer's — Columbine's. 

(Shouts are heard outside) 

VOICES {outside) 
Watteau ! Watteau ! Court Painter ! 





[Boy runs in] 








BOY 






Sir, the guild 
Of Paris Artists, outside in the street — - 


Watteau ! 


VOICES (outside) 

BOY 

Would honor you ! 








VOICES 


Watteau ! 





20 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COURTIN {to WaTTEAU) 

Out, then, 
And quiet them. 

[Watteau goes out with all but Columbine 
and Lancret, who remain in the studio^ 

VOICES (outside) 
Watteau ! 

COLUMBINE 

Monsieur Lancret, 
I will be frank with you, since time is brief. 

LANCRET (wearily) 
So frankness has a reason. Columbine ? 

COLUMBINE 

But tease me not. This portrait rivals Watteau's. 
I could not tell the difference. 

LANCRET 

I have stolen. 
As a beggar steals a cloak to hide his rags, 
A purple garment for my shabby talent. 
The master's style. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 21 

COLUMBINE 

Who can do, may do, Lancret. 
I want the world for you. 

LANCRET 

Frail Columbine — 
Purchased with glories ! 

COLUMBINE 

Glory I will have ! 
And stars to drink from and the sky to dance on. 
Yes, shod with wind, this Columbine would dance, 
Dance, dance for centuries. Listen, Lancret, 
I die without my splendors. Lancret, listen. 
Do you desire me ? 

LANCRET 

Child, what are you worth ? 

COLUMBINE 

I love you, Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

Love ? 

COLUMBINE 

But I have labored 



22 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

To bring you fortune. Coaxed the great sad 

painter, 
That loves not women but loves Columbine, 
To teach you for my sake his mellow glories. 
How I have seen you learning day by day 
The master's powers and to this very end. 
That you should be — hush ! Longed to smile on 

you. 
Yet dared not, lest he see and understand. 
My protege I called you. A light boy 
Worth helping only — a sort of studio spaniel 
I liked to keep about me. So I won 
His favor for you and the golden teachings 
Watteau sells at no price but gives to you 
To please — the Columbine. Oh, I have dreamed 
Of honors, honors — such as the world can give — 

LANCRET 

And stolen from Watteau. 

COLUMBINE 

Listen, Lancret, 
At the opera all the dancers talk of you — 
Lancret — the new Apollo. At the court 
Mademoiselle Felise, who dresses hair. 
Tells me the boudoirs speak the name of Lan- 
cret 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 23 

Like a love spell. A wit, a beau, a gallant, 
Gay chevalier — a genius too — great Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

I will not listen. 

COLUMBINE 

But to-day the queen 
Will come to see her portrait, and if then 
She chanced to look on yours — 

LANCRET 

Beside Watteau's 
How pale it is! 

COLUMBINE 

But if the master's hand 
Coaxed by the Columbine should touch your por- 
trait 
With divine magic — often he has done so, 
To make his meaning clear of light and shadow — 
And if the queen — they tell me queens are 
fickle — 

LANCRET 

Even like Columbine ? 



24 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

But if the queen 
Should see it — then — 

LANCRET 

I cannot listen. 

COLUMBINE 

Nay — 
What if the master in a tempestuous mood 
Of black despair, such absolute distaste 
As takes him like a madness and undoes him 
And what he makes — why, I have seen him burn 
A masterpiece one bargained for in vain, 
And he half starved, because he said it lacked 
Some light, some music, the angels told him what ! 
You know the moods I mean. Well — if Watteau, 
In such a spirit — 

LANCRET 

Hush ! 

COLUMBINE 

Struck with his brush 
{Pointing to Watte Au's portrait of the Queen) 
Out, in one minute, that high and haughty smile. 
Out, all the insolent glory of her face — 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 25 

LANCRET {with rebuke) 
He is my master. 

COLUMBINE {leaning over Lancret's portrait) 

If the queen's eye fell, 
Then, upon this, Lancret — 

LANCRET 

Vainglorious child. 
Does splendor purchase you ? 

[Watteau enters. Columbine goes to html 

COLUMBINE 

Lancret ^ — I pledge 
My hand to — the Court Painter. 



Columbine, 
Is that a riddle ? 

COLUMBINE 

No — Monsieur Watteau. 

watteau 
You love my office f 



26 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

No — Monsieur Watteau. 
(Draws him to Lancret's portrait of the Queen) 
Come ! See this portrait. Let us criticise it 
And tease the artist for the golden manner 
He stole from you. The boy amuses me. 
He strives so hard to be Watteau. Come ! 



come 



Instruct my protege. 

WATTEAU 

Why should I do so ? 

COLUMBINE 

Because I ask you. 

WATTEAU 

That is cause enough. 
Sound logic. 

COLUMBINE 

Oh, this little me ! To think 
I am so small and powerful. I feel 
Big as a lion. Fear me, great Watteau. 

WATTEAU 

Well — soldo. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 27 

COLUMBINE 

But why ? 

WATTEAU 

White magic ! Spell 
Of little meaning that the wit denies 
And yet the heart believes. 

COLUMBINE 

How well you praise me. 
Put out your hand. How big ! Now look at mine ! 
Master, which hand is stronger ? 

WATTEAU 

Columbine's. 

COLUMBINE 

Speak more such words. What would you ? 

WATTEAU 

Your heart. 



'T is but a bauble. 



COLUMBINE 

Why — so — . 

WATTEAU 

I would die for it. 



28 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

Would you, Watteau ? Then teach this silly boy 
To learn his lesson. 

WATTEAU {curiously) 

Delilah ? Oh, Delilah. 



I am not. 



Ah? 



COLUMBINE 



WATTEAU 



COLUMBINE 



Master, he is a truant 
Not swift at learning. I would have him learn. 



WATTEAU 

But if the pupil should outstrip the master — 
So gracious, fine, fashioned so shapely, fair 
To please court ladies ! 

LANCRET 

Master ! 

COLUMBINE 

Oh, Watteau, 
Teach him. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 29 

WATTEAU 

But why ? 

COLUMBINE 

I love his sweetheart. 

WATTEAU 

True. 

That is the very sterling coin of speech. 
How could you spend it ! 

COLUMBINE 

She dances next to me 
In the ballet. The one in scarlet slippers. 
Her name is Anastase. 

WATTEAU 

But wherefore lie ? 

COLUMBINE 

I promised her to help him. 

WATTEAU 

Wherefore lie ? 
Yet such explicit guile is almost truth 
It tells so on itself. 



30 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE (^pleading) 

Show him, Watteau. 
Look, it needs you, 

LANCRET 

Master ! 

COLUMBINE 

Then I will love you. 

WATTEAU 

Sure ? 

COLUMBINE 

Oh, I will ! I '11 take the heart of me 
And put it in your hands. 

WATTEAU 

A sugar heart ? 
With white doves painted on it ? 

COLUMBINE 

No, no, no ! 
A really, truly, really heart, Watteau. 

WATTEAU {to LaNCRET) 

Lend me your oil. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 31 

LANCRET 

Master, how you trust me, 

WATTEAU 

No, no ! my son — I love you well, but never 
Think that I trust you. 

COLUMBINE {holding oil for Watteau) 
The oil. 

WATTEAU {beginning work on Lancret's portrait) 

Now learn of me. 
(^He scrutinizes the oil) 
Bah ! But you keep it clean. 

LANCRET 

But — 

WATTEAU 

My own oil 
Is full of dust J I clean it once a week. 
And bits of stick and hair and cobweb too 
I keep in it. Let moth and dust corrupt 
What 's in this world. 

LANCRET 

But pardon me, Watteau^ 
Your colors fade the sooner. 



32 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

WATTEAU 

That 's why I do it. 
I advise that you do likewise. 

(^He has altered the portrait) 
Look ! 

COLUMBINE {in triumph) 

He has done it. 

WATTEAU 

That 's all. But just a high light and a line. 
A little, little line. 'T was just that much 
That made the gulf on the Heaven side of Dives. 
By Monsieur Lancret — portrait of the queen. 
As good as mine, I think. {Turning to his own) 

Ah — how I loathe it 1 
{He turns again to Lancret's portrait) 
I advise you, Lancret, place it where the queen 
May see it. 

LANCRET 

But — 

WATTEAU 

It may advantage you. 
For if she favors it above Watteau's — 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 33 

COLUMBINE 

Above your own, Watteau ? 

{They stand before Watte Au's portrait) 

WATTEAU 

'T is failure. 

COLUMBINE 

Yet 
The world would say success. 

WATTEAU 

Sweet Columbine — 
The heart heeds not the applauding multitude 
But its own judgment. 

COLUMBINE 

Nay — • 

WATTEAU 

It sickens me. 

COLUMBINE {scheming) 
*T is not your best. 

WATTEAU 

What ? 



34 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

In a conquering mood 
Think what you might achieve with such a face ! 
Would I might see that portrait ! 

WATTEAU 

I hate my work, 
(/jr about to blot it out with his brush') 
I will destroy it. 

(Lancret catches his arm) 

LANCRET 

No! 

COLUMBINE (passionately) 
Lancret ! 



LANCRET 



Would you have had me ? 



My child, 



COLUMBINE 



Oh, fastidious workman ! 
'T is that fierce conscience I admire, master. 
That tries and burns the creatures of your brain. 
'Twas just such valiant acts of regal spendthrift 
That made me love you first. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 35 

WATTEAU 

Child! 

COLUMBINE 

When I saw 

Kings could not bribe you — who would never 
send 

A painting scourged by your own soul's re- 
proach, 

To strut before an applauding public — then 

I saw Watteau and loved him. 

WATTEAU 

Woman ! Woman ! 
Weave on. 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau, you know how I desire 
The world for you. Oh, win it royally 
With no concessions. I am shy of him 
That stoops to please — a court. 

WATTEAU 

I see. I see. 
Oh, Columbine, you are a simple version 
Of a mysterious tale whose magic thought 
In words one syllabled is written large 
In a child's primer. 



36 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

'T was a god I loved. 

WATTEAU 

Or rather, the Court Painter. 

COLUMBINE 

Court Painter ? No ! 
I know him not. But Watteau, scornful, splen- 
did, 
In rags, half famished, with the eyes that look 
Through, through — till I feel helpless as the air, 
Transparent, simple — 

WATTEAU 

Simple as the air. 
But yet — how subtle ! 

COLUMBINE 

Now you have grown precious 
Of work you value not. Like other men ! 
How I should love you if with one bold stroke — 
But men are cowards. Yet I would have you 

brave ! 
Watteau — I promise. If you lose it all, 
The Court, the favor, here is Columbine ! 
Yours, yours ! All yours ! 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 37 

WATTEAU 

I will not take your promise. 
I have given you so much. Take back the word 
By my free gift that otherwise your hand 
Will filch from my souFs casket — when all 's 

done. 
Helplessly intricate ! And yet so plain • — 
As complex things all are when once they are 

learned. 
You are not simple enough to evade my wit 
Even though 't is slow. I give you back your 

word, 
One truth — in spite of you — as one would give 
To a child a priceless gift he values not — 
In case you should go up to it — and bewail 
How little you have of honor. Now all 's plain. 
And I '11 lose all, and you shall pledge your faith 
To the Court Painter. Lancret — here's the 

brush. (^Pointing to his own portrait) 
Now blot it out. 

LANCRET 

I will not. 

WATTEAU 

Columbine ? 



38 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

No ! No ! I dare not. 

WATTEAU 

What — are you afraid ? 

COLUMBINE 

Let only him destroy it who has made. 

WATTEAU 

Oh, Columbine ! God made you for the truth ! 
You are so explicit. Wherefore weave and 

weave — 
So obvious, so cunning ! Ask me straight 
For the thing you want of me. Let 's have the 

truth. 
Give me but that. Just for a moment lay 
Your soul whole in my hands in a plain speech. 
Be just for once clear and articulate, 
Out of God's mouth as when he spoke you first, 
So I may hear your music. Say, " Watteau, 
I love this boy here, and I would have 
The world for him and me. The world, Wat- 
teau, 
That means so much to us and is to you — 
Well — treasure also. Pray you give it me.'* 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 39 

COLUMBINE 

You do mistake. I do not want the world. 

WATTEAU 

Why, then, you almost spoil my faith in God, 

Who, being perfect, let his hand go astray 

And spoiled you in the making. Was it so 

hard 
To fashion you more smoothly ? Wherefore 

break us 
To such discredit ? Maker of us all. 
We do beseech Thee for a perfectness. 
Oh, Architect of sighs, doubt, and disgust, 
Builder of broken bodies and of souls 
That bear the blemish of Thy hand, — no, no, 
I will not think upon the bruised world, 
That like the serpent shines beneath Thy heel. 
Accursed and beautiful, afflicted, fair. 
Bright and vindictive. Rather will I set 
My hand to make perfection — if I may. 
Be perfect as you are fair. Say, " Give it me." 
Come, speak the words ! You will not, even 

so ? 
How I desire this honor for you, child. 
Is it so hard ? What, even as a gift 
Bought with no purchase money of your own 
But my own blood ? 



40 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

I pray you, give it me. 

(Watte AU dashes out the face of the portrait 
with his brush) 

WATTEAU 

Vanitas vanitatum ! Let it pass. 
\_J Page enters^ 

PAGE 

The queen. 

[Queen enters with her Lady-in-waiting] 

QUEEN 

Monsieur Watteau, I come at last 
To see my portrait. 

(^She pauses before Lancret's painting) 
It is changed. 

watteau 

Yes, madam. 

QUEEN 

How different ! Yet — I congratulate you. 
That touch ! How full of you ! 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 41 

THE LADY 

Your majesty. 
The likeness is most perfect. 

QUEEN 

Watteau ? yourself? 
Does it give you pleasure, sir ? 

WATTEAU 

It is well done. 

QUEEN 

That bold technique ! A real Watteau ! 

WATTEAU 

No, madam. 

QUEEN 

What do you mean ? 

WATTEAU 

'T was not my hand that did it. 
Lancret, a friend. 

(^Points to his own painting) 

There, madam, is my portrait. 
A real Watteau. 



42 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

QUEEN 

What, sir, would you insult me ? 
Blot out my likeness ! 

LANCRET 

Madam, pardon me. 
He compliments you. To his fastidious taste 
It was not worthy of you. 

COLUMBINE 

Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

Dear madam, 
Genius is whimsical. In its own ways 
It praises or dispraises. ^T was a dream — 
Perfection — took the breath with loveliness. 
Unheard of beauty ! To his fastidious taste 
It was not worthy of you. 

QUEEN 

Watteau, Watteau ! 
That was a savage compliment. But still — 
Luxembourg waits for you. The Sistine Chapel 
Is restless for angels and the great Madonna 
I bid you paint there. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 43 

WATTEAU {holding out the slippers) 

Madam, upon these 
I have drawn that great Madonna. 

QUEEN {taking the shoes) 

Satin slippers! 
What butterflies ! 

THE LADY 

What wreaths ! 

QUEEN 

What pretty Cupids. 

WATTEAU 

I painted a Madonna on the sole. 

(Queen turns them over) 

QUEEN 

A Madonna ! 'T is a wonder. 

WATTEAU 

Madam — I spent 
The dreams of many days and wakeful nights 
Upon that little shoe. 



44 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

QUEEN 

But this is spendthrift ! 
One promenade upon a velvet carpet 
Would spoil the glory of it. 

WATTEAU 

Therefore, madam, 
I wrought them as they are. 

QUEEN 

They are just my size. 

WATTEAU 

The smallest shoe in the kingdom. 



I '11 try them on. 



COLUMBINE 
WATTEAU 

Pardon me, madam. 

QUEEN 

So — 



THE LADY 

Monsieur is honored. 
May I suggest thrice blessed is that man 
That makes the queen a welcome gift ? 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 45 

QUEEN 

And why ? 

WATTE AU 

They are not meant for — this. 

QUEEN 

I see ! I see ! 
(^Reaching him her purse) 
Well, Monsieur Watteau — was it meant for this ? 

WATTEAU 

No, madam. 

QUEEN 

Nay — but, man, 't is the queen's purse. 
With a thousand francs. 

WATTEAU 

About this little shoe 
Is the sweet savor of my midnight dreams. 

QUEEN 

I triple it. 

WATTEAU {holding shoe) 

Oh, perfect only thing 
That making I have loved, fragile and fair, 
I '11 keep you — so. 



46 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

QUEEN 

But I will have it ! Sir — 
Five thousand francs. 

WATTEAU {fondling shoes) 
Sweet dream. 

QUEEN 

Then twenty thousand ! 

WATTEAU 

I hear the Cupids play their little harps. 

QUEEN 

Is this another compliment, Watteau ? 
It savors of insult, like the other. Nay — 
A fortune ! Name your price ! 

WATTEAU 

Never — though I 
Am hounded with debts clean to the very door 
Of the debtor's prison. 

QUEEN 

Oh, I hate this man ! 
Give me the shoe. I say — the shoe I '11 have. 
A title — would you ? Why — do you not know 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 47 

What 't is to raise the enmity of queens ? 
Down, down, you dog ! And lick my hand ! A 

duke. 
This will I make you. 

WATTEAU {with a smile) 
Ah? 

QUEEN 

Does he not hear ? 

Sir — I command you. What, would you be 
hanged ? 

I '11 move the powers of Heaven and Earth and 
Hell 

To get these slippers. What I want, I '11 have. 

You will not take rewards ? Then I will strike. 

I banish you from court. Our doors in vain 

Shall plead for the wings of angels. Not a 
dream 

Of Watteau's shall come true about the walls 

Of the Sistine Chapel. Go and face despair, 

Hunger and cold, imprisonment, disaster. 

Even as of old before I favored you. 

Dependent ! Slave ! That shall be scourged in- 
deed 

By my own hand ! Do you deny your queen ? 

Sell me the shoes — or I will ruin you ! 



48 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

WATTEAU 

You cannot pay their price ! 

QUEEN 

I cannot ? What ? 
Have I not coffers of gold, rich diadems, 
Worth a king's ransom, fit to buy my whims ? 
Is France so poor ? 

WATTEAU 

Ah, Lady, give me then 
That gold whereof the streets of Heaven are made. 
On which the steps of angels fall as sweet 
As silver rain over a shining air. 
You cannot buy from me these shoes. Oh, 

Queen I 
France is so poor. 

QUEEN 

Ah, now, I see! I see! 
Artist — and poet ! Such folk must be paid 
In magic coin. You are intricate 
With your strange courtesies of finer worlds. 
Forgive me, sir, that am but a Queen on Earth — 
That small and vulgar province in Great Space. 
I am not skilled to the urbanities 
Of starry cities — the great gracious ways 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 49 

Of the far capitals of noble thought. 

Pardon the rustic and her bourgeoisie ! 

She will learn manners. I am rich, Monsieur — 

And I will pay, but in more subtle-wise 

Than gold or titles. I will give a treasure 

Great Kings sigh for in vain. I pray you, sir. 

Sell me the shoes — and I will pay — a kiss. 

WATTEAU 

That, gracious lady, is too much to pay. 

I cannot tell my Lord, on the Day of Judg- 
ment, 

That I have stolen their treasure from Great 
Kings. 

QUEEN 

Why, man — I am the queen ! 

WATTEAU 

And I — Watteau. 

QUEEN 

So. Then I will be mild. I have behaved 
Like a child that cried for a star. Is it so high ? 
But you can give it, like the god you are. 
I will not barter. I will beg. Monsieur — 
Give me the shoes. 



so THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau — give me the shoes. 

WATTEAU 

Oh, Columbine, so spun of sorceries 
You could not trust me, even at the end, 
But needs must win by guile what I would give ! 
Ah, child — how fair you are ! Take them. 
(^Giving her the shoes) 

Thereon 
Has breathed my soul. It is my masterpiece. 

COLUMBINE 

I '11 try them on. 

{Putting one on) 
Oh, see my darling foot ! 

LANCRET 

Watteau — oh, master ! 

WATTEAU 

She is of little worth. 
And yet — Lancret — we needs must love her. So ? 

COLUMBINE (with both shoes on) 

Ha — ah ! I 'm Columbine ! But these are shoes 
In which to run. My feet feel happy in them. 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 51 

WATTEAU 

They are full of thoughts of you. 

COLUMBINE 

I feel like flying. 

WATTEAU 

The wings of the butterflies wrought in the satin 
Will bear you up. 

COLUMBINE 

Oh, how I want to dance ! 

WATTEAU 

You feel the tunes the little cherubs play 
Upon their harps. Hush — somebody is crying ! 
It is the tears of Watteau's lost Madonna. 

COURTIN 

He 's mad ! 

COLUMBINE {dancing and singing) 
Blossoms floating in the wine I 
Every one loves Columbine ! 

WATTEAU 

Dance ! Dance ! 



52 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

QUEEN 

Lancret, come to the court to-morrow. 
I make you Painter to the Queen. 

COLUMBINE {victoriously) 

Lancret ! 

QUEEN 

Monsieur Watteau, I bid you an adieu. 

(She and her Lady sweep to the door) 
I go from your door. But when I go, monsieur, 
Hunger and Desolation and Despair 
Shall enter in. I pray you, see this man, 
Who better loves a foolish Columbine 
Than a Madonna ! When the centuries 
Shall loose their tongues on him, their speech 

shall be 
Monsieur Watteau, great Painter and great Fool. 
(She goes out with her Lady) 

COLUMBINE {in Lancret^s arms) 
But oh, Lancret, Lancret ! 

WATTEAU 

Dance, Columbine. 
Upon those little satin shoes are painted 
What made night perfect and on a barren day 



THE SHOES THAT DANCED 53 

Shed light. Dance, dance, as Judith danced of old 
With the head of Holofernes. ' 

(Columbine dances and sings) 

COLUMBINE 

Blossoms perish in the snow. 
Columbine won^t kiss Pierrot ! 
(^Her dance increases in wildness. Her skirts 
glitter around her) 

WATTEAU 

Oh, whither ? Immortality and Fame, 
Fortune and High Endeavor sketched thereon ! 

COLUMBINE [singing) 

Blossoms fade and we forget^ 
She was fairer than Pierrette ! 

WATTEAU 

Whither ? ye flowering wreaths and little Cupids, 
That play through satin all your subtle tunes ? 
Oh, whither ? roses ! whither ? butterflies ! 
Dance — dance ! 

(Columbine sings and dances) 

COLUMBINE 

Blossoms lead the April in^ 
Columbine founced Harlequin. 



54 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 

WATTE AU 

Whither ? oh, heart of Watteau, wrought among 
The blossoming wreaths and all ye precious 

dreams 
That made it golden ! Rushing of vague wings, 
Haloes and tears of Mary — all of these 
That shone in it so long. Dance ! 

COLUMBINE (^faltering) 

I am tired ! 
And — oh, Watteau ! 

WATTEAU 

Dance ! dance ! I bid you dance ! 
(She dances aga'in^ more passionately than ever) 
Forever and forever ! O Virgin Mary ! — 
Dance ! dance ! Convey my visions to the dust. 
Efface my dreams in darkness. Oh, the mad whirl 
In which they all go out ! Dance them away — 
Even to destruction and to utter death. 



THE RIDERS 

But if I ride with you to-night, 

Will you bring me back by early light ? 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
How can I leave my days of balm. 
My perfumed, sweet, enchanted calm ? 
The old life holds me like a charm. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

My tranquil days are cool and fair, 
I stitch my seam and plait my hair, 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
My broideries are silken fine ! 
Oh, look, beneath this hand of mine. 
Creep yellow grapes and muscadine. 
And painted faces through them shine, 
And golden flagons for the wine — 
But yet I sicken, I fail, I pine. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Of innocence I am the daughter. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
Soft as a lily under water 

(Ride, quoth he.) 



56 THE RIDERS 

I poise all day beneath a stream ! 
Sometimes a wandering face will gleam, 
Hover aloft and pass and beam, 
Looking a moment in the stream. 
Or I hear voices in a dream, 
While I swing limpidly under the water ! 
Soft and slow is time to me — 
Of innocence the snow-white daughter ! 
(Ride, quoth he.) 

I have dashed my brow against a stone 
That I might see the stars at noon, 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
For I have not seen the face of night — 
I sit at dusk by candle light 
In a small chamber, clean and white ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Will you take me to the strange black town 
Where rushing men heave up and down ? 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
I am so terribly alone ! 
I want their bread that is not my own. 
I will eat thereof though it be but stone ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 



THE RIDERS 57 

Will you take me up to the top of the steeple 
From which the Devil showed the people ? 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
Those kingdoms whirl like scarlet sand 
Blown at sunset across the land ! 
I would catch the red dust in my hand ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Will you take me through the flames of Hell ? 
If it burns as bright as I 've heard tell 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
I would fain be burned, so chill I go 
As a dreaming wraith of pure, cold snow ! 
On a blast of fire my soul would blow ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Will you take my soul to Paradise ? 
Warm with its lovely sight my eyes ? 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
Where two vast angels are spread abroad, 
And none shall pass them, saith the Lord ! 
But I will take to my breast the sword. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Will you take me up to Heaven's gate ? 
The angels will lend me a robe of state ! 
(Ride, quoth he.) 



58 THE RIDERS 

Wonderful garments manifold ! 
I would dance before them in garb of gold, 
And the strong great angels, wise and old. 
Would laugh to see me leap so bold ! 
(Ride, quoth he.) 



Will you take me through the wind and fire 
To the land I know not but desire ? 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
Where stinging tears they all must weep. 
Like cataracts their souls shall leap ! 
Where grief is deep and joy is deep 
And smooth as ivory is sleep ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Strange times have galloped through my mood ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
Old cities dance along my blood ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
'T is Sodom has an adder's tongue — 
But oh, what songs has Venice sung ! 
With piercing Troy have I been stung, 
Gomorrah through my heart has swung ! 
'T was so with Christ when he was young ! 

(Ride, quoth he.) 



THE RIDERS 59 

Mother, I ride with him to-night ! 
" My child^ you shall not leave my sight ! " 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
But through the dark they rode away ! 
Whither they went let angels say. 
They both came back at the break of day. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

When she came back her breast was torn, 
The sweetness from her lips was worn. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 
Her hands were pitiful with scars ! 
They came from plucking at old wars 
That rocked through Hell like meteors. 

(Ride, quoth he.) 

Her breast was wounded with the sword 
That keeps the garden of the Lord. 

(Grieve ! quoth he.) 
But underneath her cloak of brown 
Were pale glints of a golden gown. 

(Shine ! quoth he.) 
This way, that way, wisdom lies. 
She had eaten the fruit and was made wise. 
Now in her calm and smiling eyes 
Laughed the flowers of Paradise ! 

(Peace, quoth he.) 



WHILE LOVELINESS GOES BY 

Sometimes when all the world seems gray and dun 

And nothing beautiful, a voice will cry, 

" Look out, look out ! Angels are drawing nigh ! " 

Then my slow burdens leave me, one by one, 

And swiftly does my heart arise and run 

Even like a child, while loveliness goes by — 

And common folk seem children of the sky, 

And common things seem shaped of the sun. 

Oh, pitiful ! that I who love them, must 

So soon perceive their shining garments fade ! 

And slowly, slowly, from my eyes of trust 

Their flaming banners sink into a shade ! 

While this earth's sunshine seems the golden dust 

Slow settling from that radiant cavalcade. 



SWEET WEARINESS 

Fatigue itself may be a pleasant thing 
And weariness be silken, soft and fine ! 
Upon my eyes its little vapors shine. 
Trailing me softly like a colored wing ! 
Tender as when beloved voices sing 
It steals upon me and with touch divine 
Lulls all my senses till each thought of mine 
Is hushed to quiet, unremembering. 
Oh, weariness thrice dear, so frailly spun 
Of ended pleasure that still shines and glows ; 
Oh, weariness, thrice dear ! What have I done 
To earn this delicate and deep repose ? 
Child^ thou hast worshiped at the setting sun 
And looked long^ long^ upon the opening rose. 



THE WOUND 

Wounded am I, yet happier — happier far 
Than they who have not felt the precious sting ! 
Poor feet that bleed not with this wandering ! 
Poor hands that burn not, plucking at a star ! 
Poor hearts unblessed and whole ! I bear the scar 
Of a too piercing loveliness. The thing 
Hung out of reach I touched, and now I sing 
Mad with delight, more blessed than others are. 
For since the blushing and ethereal hour 
When loveliness upon my heart was born, 
When I was stricken by her magic power, 
I run — I run — wild, ecstasied, forlorn. 
For beauty, when I go to pluck her flower, 
Pierces my willing bosom with a thorn. 



A SONNET FOR THE EARTH 

When I am weary for delight and spent, 
Even as a bird that tries too long its wings 
Will nest awhile amid the grass and sings, 
So I drop downward from the wonderment 
Of timelessness and space, in which were blent 
The wind, the sunshine and the wanderings 
Of all the planets — to the little things 
That are my grass and flowers and am content. 

Or if in flight my wings should beat so far 
From the kind grass that is so cool and deep 
That it must poise among the winds on high — 
Yet will I sing to thee from star to star, 
Piercing thy sunshine, and will always keep 
A song for thee amid the farthest sky. 



MY FOOLISH DEEDS 

When I, before the altars of repose, 
Invited Slumber, she refused to stay. 
But with a broken heart she turned away. 
Astonished quite. Among the flaunting shows 
That circled round, she perished like a rose 
Cast among flames. Oh, bring her back — I pray ! 
Then sternly to my heart a voice said, " Nay, 
Thou canst not have her — tearfully she goes." 

God might not join us, — for gorgeous, bright. 
Adorned, conspicuous, sure, without disguise, 
Strangely illumined with derisive light 
They danced — they danced ! Oh, then I was 

made wise ! 
My foolish deeds, flaming before my eyes. 
Denied me slumber all the livelong night. 



SONNETS FOR NEW YORK 
CITY 



NEW YORK AT SUNRISE 

When with her clouds the early dawn illumes 
Our doubtful streets, wistful they grow and 

mild ; 
As if a sleeping soul grew happy and smiled. 
The whole dark city radiantly blooms. 
Pale spires lift their hands above the glooms 
Like a resurrection, delicately wild. 
And flushed with slumber like a little child. 
Under a mist, shines forth the innocent Tombs. 
Thus have I seen it from a casement high. 
As unsubstantial as a dream it grows. 
Is this Manhattan, virginal and shy. 
That in a cloud so rapturously glows ? 
Ethereal, frail, and like an opening rose, 
I see my city with an enlightened eye. 



66 SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY 

II 

A POLITICAL ''BOSS'' 

Has he no country ? Is he of alien breed ? 
Is this land not his home ? Oh, exiled one ! 
Stranger to his own kind, where does he run ? 
How he has shamed us, for the world to read ! 
Oh, carrion, prowling where this people bleed, 
Grown fat upon disaster, hide from the sun ! 
A scornful nation asks, what has he done 
With the public trust, the honor, and the need. 
Not him with glorious hand will we indite, 
Patriot, Statesman, in the Hall of Fame, 
Nor will we let him flee into the night 
Of safe oblivion ! But oh — that name 
For our sons' sons a moving hand shall write 
In scarlet letters on the walls of Shame. 



SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY (i^ 



III 



SHAME ON THEE, O MANHATTAN 

Shame on thee, O Manhattan, whom I love ! 
And shame on me that I have slept away 
So many years while thy feet went astray ! 

Thou ^ that should'st be white as any dove. 
Thou Scarlet Woman ! Is there no voice to 

move — 
No hand to smite us ? Even for this I pray — 
Some terrible scourging that we have let the day 
Darken around us while we saw thee rove. 
Last night I heard thee cry. Thy wandering feet 
Went bleeding by me. On thy ruined breast 

1 saw thee nurse a feeding child of flame ! 
Desolate, gorgeous, frantic along the street ! 

Ah, how I blushed in the dark that through my 

rest 
I felt the burning garments of thy shame. 



68 SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY 

IV 

THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE 

This day into the fields my steps are led. 

I cannot heal me there ! Row after row, 

Thousands of daisies radiantly blow. 

They have not brought from Heaven my daily 

bread ! 
But they are like a prayer too often said. 
I have forgot their meaning, and I go 
From the cold rubric of their gold and snow, 
And the calm ritual, all uncomforted. 
I want the faces ! faces ! remote and pale. 
That surge along the city streets ! The flood 
Of reckless ones, haggard and spent and frail. 
Excited, hungry ! In this other mood 
'T is not the words of the faith for which I ail. 
But to plunge in the fountain of its living blood. 



TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 
DRESSED FOR SUNDAY 

To-day I saw the shop-girl go 

Down gay Broadway to meet her beau. 

Conspicuous, splendid, conscious, sweet, 
She spread abroad and took the street. 

And all that niceness would forbid, 
Superb, she smiled upon and did. 

Let other girls, whose happier days 
Preserve the perfume of their ways. 

Go modestly. The passing hour 
Adds splendor to their opening flower. 

But from this child too swift a doom 
Must steal her prettiness and bloom. 

Toil and weariness hide the grace 
That pleads a moment from her face. 

So blame her not if for a day 

She flaunts her glories while she may. 



70 TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 

She half perceives, half understands, 
Snatching her gifts with both her hands. 

The little strut beneath the skirt 
That lags neglected in the dirt, 

The indolent swagger down the street — 
Who can condemn such happy feet ! 

Innocent ! vulgar — that 's the truth ! 
Yet with the darling wiles of youth ! 

The bright, self-conscious eyes that stare 
With such hauteur, beneath such hair ! 
Perhaps the men will find me fair I 

Charming and charmed, flippant, arrayed. 
Fluttered and foolish, proud, displayed. 
Infinite pathos of parade ! 

The bangles and the narrowed waist — 
The tinseled boa — forgive the taste ! 
Oh, the starved nights she gave for that, 
And bartered bread to buy her hat ! 

She flows before the reproachful sage 
And begs her woman's heritage. 



TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 71 

Dear child, with the defiant eyes, 
Insolent with the half surmise 
We do not quite admire, I know 
How foresight frowns on this vain show ! 

And judgment, wearily sad, may see 
No grace in such frivolity. 

Yet which of us was ever bold 

To worship Beauty, hungry and cold ! 

Scorn famine down, proudly expressed 
Apostle to what things are best. 

Let him who starves to buy the food 
For his soul's comfort find her good, 

Nor chide the frills and furbelows 
That are the prettiest things she knows. 

Poet and prophet in God's eyes 
Make no more perfect sacrifice. 

Who knows before what inner shrine 
She eats with them the bread and wine ? 

Poor waif ! One of the sacred few 
That madly sought the best they knew ! 



72 TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 

Dear — let me lean my cheek to-night 
Close, close to yours. Ah, that is right. 

How warm and near ! At last I see 
One beauty shines for thee and me. 

So let us love and understand — 
Whose hearts are hidden in God's hand. 

And we will cherish your brief Spring 
And all its fragile flowering. 

God loves all prettiness, and on this 
Surely his angels lay their kiss. 



FORGETFULNESS 

She was so recent. She had not yet learned 
The sweet observances that make their days 
Beautiful to the angels. She went dim 
Among their shining, and unoccupied 
Wistfully watched their pastimes. Then came 

one 
Who brought a fruit. 

" Eat thou," the splendor said. 
" I will not eat," said she. 

For in his eyes 
She saw forgetfulness and was afraid. 

Then to her love on earth an angel came. 
" We cannot heal her of her listlessness 
Nor teach her the new ways, and memory 
Grieves her with tears. She will not eat the fruit 
That makes us wise and shows us to forget." 

Dark is the road that leads to Heaven for one 
Who is not dead. No angel goes with him. 
Blind and with torn, vague feet and all alone 
He came among them. Through the shining 
place 



74 FORGETFULNESS 

They saw him rush and saw the scarlet blood 
Drip through the brightness. To his Love he 

came, 
And, lifting in his haggard hands her cheek, 
He kissed her on the mouth and showed the 

fruit 
The Angel brought himv — terrible and sweet. 

" Eat, Love," he said. 
And she, that loved him, ate. 
Then smiled at him with unremembering eyes, 
And with her heavenly comrades turned away. 
With bleeding feet back to the earth he came, 
And through the barren days remembered her. 



THE PURITAN 

The Preacher in his seat 

Spoke a new word to-day. 

He shook the rock beneath my feet 

And left uncertain clay. 

His tale was all of ease, 

Of tenderness alone. 

He was not there when Moses struck 

A water from a stone. 

Could I but speak the word. 
The skies should not let fall 
Celestial honey on my lips 
When they had need of gall. 

He preached a silken word 

To fearful men and vain. 

They want the sweet dews of our Lord 

But not the hurricane. 

ril have Him all in all — 
Beneath His feet be cast ! 
I have a heart that can endure 
The glory of the blast ! 



76 THE PURITAN 

Upon His breast like John 
They would escape His rod. 
But I would sweat as Jacob did 
And wrestle with my God. 

They are confused, perplexed ! 
They say there is no sin. 
That Hand that fashioned Paradise 
Did slip the serpent in. 

They are afraid of Death, 
I scorn their fluttering brood. 
Why I could die with a great laugh, 
Declaring that 't was good ! 

They say these things are dreams ! 
Truly, they say not well. 
For that Pale Horse John tells about 
Was driven by Death and Hell ! 

Let others love the Lamb, 
And seek a gentle Lord. 
I better like that honest God 
That came to bring a sword. 

I have no love of ease ! 

My feet are shod with might ! 



THE PURITAN 77 

If there 's no Devil in God's world 
Then what have I to fight ? 

I am a man of war ! 
Such things I understand : 
When Devils against Cherubim 
Are leagued throughout the land. 

The fragile and the small 

In happy gardens wait. 

But with the Angels of God's wrath 

I will ride out in state. 

The frail shall sit and feast ; 
Behind safe walls are they. 
Outside I '11 face the hounds of dread 
And hold its dogs at bay. 

When scarlet Hell heaves up 

I have no fear at all. 

Scarred, I beat back the advancing flames 

That threaten their good wall. 

They tell me that in Heaven 
Our Lord will turn to love, 
Calling the lambs about His knees 
And to His breast the dove. 



78 THE PURITAN 

Unto each man his lust ! 
These words He speaks to me — 
" / have set thee on a neighing horse^ 
For I have need of thee ! " 



THE JOURNEY 

Some there are that melt and meet 
With all Eden in their eyes. 
Irised loves that flame and beat 
Shine as sweet as Paradise. 
And they look and they know 
And they glimmer and they flow 
Like a murmuring in the water 
Or a melting in the snow ; 
Delicately they come near, 
And the knowledge in their eyes 
Leaves not any doubt or fear, 
For wise Eden makes them wise. 

Through the flood and through the flame, 

Hostile roads of no delight. 

Girt with bitterness and shame 

Still our spirits came aright. 

And I knew thee but to doubt, 

And thy hatred found me out 

Like a blindness all about 

And a thunder in the night. 

Still our bleeding feet would run 

When our spirits bade them stay, 



8o THE JOURNEY 

Destined for no other one, 
Doomed to tread no other way. 

If some other heart than mine 
Housed thee for a dream or two, 
If before some alien shrine 
Any prayer of thine came true, 
If She broke with thee the bread 
While I went uncomforted, 
I will love those hands that fed 
Visions to the soul of you. 
Dreams of beautiful and rare 
I '11 not envy nor gainsay. 
If her kiss has kept thee fair 
I '11 not wear that kiss away. 

Love — thou knowest for a while 
How He kept my heart in his ! 
Then I learned from out his smile 
Love's guile and its mysteries. 
Strange that his soul's lips should teach 
Unto mine the silvering speech 
That we talk now, each to each. 

Singing words 
That have flown beyond his reach 

Like homing birds. 
Dear, thy feast was spread so late ! 



THE JOURNEY 8i 

And He bade my heart inside. 
I was hungry and I ate — 
Had I not, I should have died. 

Now we meet and now we know. 
Yet — 't is all so strange a thing — 
When we love each other so 
We cannot forego love's sting ! 
Still our splendid sorrows shine, 
And the bleeding pageant goes. 
Swinging through thy heart and mine, 
Of innumerable woes. 

With my head upon thy breast 
Still I fight thee and contend. 
And those wounds disturb my rest 
That you gave my heart, — O Friend. 
They that love in lesser ways 
Lesser toils their love may prove. 
But we would not rid our days 
Of the doubts through which we rove ; 
Would not give, for all their flowers. 
And their golden, perfumed showers, 
This great grievous love of ours 
And the solemn wars of love. 

By our hearts that shall outlast 
All the storm and stress of men. 



82 THE JOURNEY 

By the dark ways of our past 

And the wounds that grieved us then, 

By the doubts through which we bled 

By the faith that comforted, 

By that love that leaves us dead. 

Love shall raise us up again. 



THE RETURN 

Now what have I brought from those brave lists ? 
Love, what have I brought to thee ? 
A scanty fame and my great shame 
That thou wast there to see. 

I bring thee only a broken sword 
And a broken heart in me ! 
More strong than I the war rushed by. 
Yet, Love, I fought for thee. 

Maids not so fair have better knights 
Goodly and brave to see. 
I would not have thee pitied of them 
If thou shouldst mate with me. 

So bid me hence, my own true love ! 
There 's such scant worth in me ! 
For from the fray I fought this day 
I bring but wounds to thee ! 

Then up and spoke my own true maid ! 
Fairest of all was she ! 
" Let each one go with the one she loves ! 
Dear love — I love but thee ! " 



KNOWLEDGE 

Once I thought that healing came 
From the angels' wings. 

Now the bruised hands of men 
Seem the kindest things. 

Once I thought to pluck and eat 

The fruit of Paradise. 
Now I break with these their bread 

With un saddened eyes. 

Once I thought to find on earth 
Love, perfect and complete. 

Now I know it carries wounds 
In its hands and feet. 



THE ROAD OF SLEEP 

He seems by day so strong, so gay ! 

All day we laugh and sing : 
This morning he said, " My last night's 
sleep 

Was such a pleasant thing." 

Yet all the night and all the night 
I thought I heard him cry, 
" My soul has got a bitter wound ! 
Love, help me or I die." 

I laid my hand on him and cried, 
" Love, did you call on me ? " 
" You waked me from a pleasant sleep. 
Heart of my heart," said he. 

Oh, whither leads that road of sleep 
Down which we fare alone ? 

There was never a dream in all the night 
Could show where he was gone. 

Some wound he may not feel at all 

Because it lies too deep. 
With a loud voice cried out on me ! 

I heard it in my sleep. 



86 THE ROAD OF SLEEP 

What strange things happen in thee, O Sleep ! 
Last night I heard him cry, 
" My soul has got a bitter wound ! 
Love, help me or I die ! " 



SPRING SONG 

Now I am made strange again 
With the old-time wildness. 
Spring, that loves the hearts of men. 
Save me by thy mildness. 

Nay, thou art not mild ! 

Thou art not any child. 
Untamed art thou and swift to run. 
Exquisite — savage as the sun. 
A golden beast, in jungles of warm air 

I make my natural lair. 
Last night, in forests of the wind 
I kept my watch and ranged. 
With haughty eyes I viewed my kind. 

Magnificent, estranged. 

We are not gentle in our mood 
When the great Spring takes our blood. 

But passionate and fretful. 

And of mankind forgetful. 

'T is then we must be free ! 
The daughter of the sky and wood. 
Let no one lay a hand on me. 

Nay, touch me not in Spring ! 

Hardly look my way ! 



88 SPRING SONG 

A glance is such a heavy thing, — 

I need no friends to-day ! 

In Summer maybe I '11 grow still 

And bide because I love. 

There 's no will now save my will, 

My soul is fain to rove. 

Always with the Spring 

Comes the thought of journeying, 

Mixed with the subtlest languor 

That would advise me to the ground 

Thereon to lie as soft as sound 

That in its bosom stirs. 

And so I do, — until at length 

Grown primitive with anger 

That has no source save youth and joy and 

strength, 
I run and shout 'twixt earth and sky. 
And fling them from me and defy. 

Being in need of prey, 

Made boastful with the Spring one day. 

To the granite rock that stood my way, 
" Bubble, bubble, blue and gray," 

Quoth I ; 
" If I should touch you with my hand. 

How you would quiver from the land ! 



SPRING SONG 89 

I could make earth, sky, and seas 
Tremble from me like the breeze." 
Then everything grew soft and fair 
Breathed out of visible air ; 
And then, because I loved it so, 
I let the whole earth shine and grow. 



IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 

Scene : A garden lit with moonlight. Enter The 
IjKDY^ followed by Nanon. 

THE LADY 

My chamber is so hot, I cannot rest. 

And when I wake, I needs must think. Nanon, 

I '11 lie here in the cool and sleep awhile, 

If sleep may come. Nanon ! 

NANON 

Dear Lady, yes. 

THE LADY 

Go get your lute and charm my slumber, lest 
It bring me dreams that should not visit me. 

[Exit Nanon] 
In visions of the night — ! 

Oh if my thoughts 
Strayed from my lord and master, unto him 
I must not touch — not even in a dream — 
And lingered with him ! I am afraid ! For 

thoughts 
Do presage acts. I dare not think of him ! 



IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 91 

For thinking — I must see ! And if I see — 
Oh Heaven, be merciful to me ! I say- 
That women are as helpless, soft and strange, 
As the frail water clinging upon stone — 
A comfort in the noonday and at night 
A very gentle solace. They abide 
In sweet and delicate ways, and one shall 

smile. 
Saying, " She is with me always." Yet in 

sooth. 
Even while she tarries and makes him sweet and 

blest. 
Her thoughts are from him, woven in a cloud ; 
For so the wind obtains her dreams and she 
Is passing always, not to be detained. 
(^She seats herself on the garden bench. Nanon enters 
with lute^ singing) 

NANON 

The way that leads to hearths delight — 

It is not very long^ 

As brief as tears .^ as quick as smiles,^ 

And ended like a song. 

The road that lies to hearfs desire 

Travels not very far ^ 

There 's never a stone^ there *s never a brier — 



92 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 

THE LADY 

I do not like your song. 

NANON 

It is of love ! 

THE LADY 

Have you no ditty that is soft and cool, 
As cool as snow, as soft and still as sleep ? 

NANON {singing^ 

My thoughts are gathered of thee as the wind 
Gathers the mist of the water and so 
" I could dream of thee ^ an thou hadst the mind^'' 
^uoth he in the dark — 

THE LADY 

Oh peace, Nanon ! Have you not any song 
Would quiet love as death would quiet woe ? 

NANON 

Oh Lady dear, that song was never sung. 

THE LADY 

Be quiet, then. I '11 sleep. And the good angels 
Must guard my dreams. 

(She lies down on the bench) 



IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 93 

NANON {singing) 

My thoughts are gathered of thee as the wind 
Gathers the mist from the water — 

(The Lady sleeps^ and Nanon, hushing her song^ 
looks over the garden) 

This great night 
Wherein all things do sleep, is terrible. 
Is there anything happening ? 

(She walks away from the sleeping I^kdy^ among the 
trees) 

The air seems full 
Of presences that meet and mingle! Oh — 
Where are the stars ! Peace — peace ! Unstable 
me ! 

(Strikes her lute and sings) 
I would have fed — but yet the heavenly powers 

Brought back the road to you. 
That God that made all love^ made this of ours — 
But we that share it^ oh what shall we do ? 

(She thinks she hears a movement and starts hack 

to the garden bench) 
Oh Lady dear — and have you waked so soon ? 
(She sees that The Lady slumbers) 

I thought I heard my Lady leave her couch ! 
What did I see that flitted through the garden ? 



94 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 

Shadows, I think, or else perhaps two lovers 
That seek a lonely world of green delight. 
Ah — I have sighed and sipped like all the rest, 
Feasted and sorrowed, and would do so again ! 
Ah me — what bliss has taken the midnight air. 
What strange old sorrow and what vast despair ! 

THE LADY {starting up) 

I dreamed that in a garden I did sit 
Where I had sat for centuries, and sang. 
I heard his echoing steps sound far away. 
He sought for me amid the thick green leaves 
And found my hands but could not see my face. 
I could not break from him nor did I try, 
But crossing the moonlight looked into his eyes. 
And looking, read that thing that had to be. 
And we passed on and came together where 
The night lay softly singing in the green — 
And then — Nanon ! {As if in terror.) 

NANON 

Oh Lady dear — what now ? 

THE LADY 

Have I been lying quiet all this while ? 

NANON 

Dear Lady, yes. 



IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 95 

THE LADY 

What happens in the night ? 



NANON 



All still. Nothing abroad save two black shadows 
That through the purple darkness I saw flit. 

THE LADY 

Then go, Nanon, and leave me here alone. 
(Nanon goes out and The Lady's lover enters) 

THE LADY 

What are you doing here ? This time of night ! 

HER lover 

I was roused from sleep. I had so strange a 
dream. 

THE LADY 

What ? Had you then ? I pray you — tell your 
dream. 

HER LOVER 

I dreamed that through a garden at dusk I came. 

THE LADY 

Not that ! 



96 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 

HER LOVER 

I heard you sing. 

THE LADY 

I am afraid ! 
And what came then ? 

HER LOVER 

When I that singing heard 
I sought for you amid the thick green leaves. 

THE LADY 

Oh peace, you babbler of a foolish dream ! 

HER LOVER 

And found your hands but could not see your face. 

THE LADY 

Oh go ! My heart will break. I bid you go ! 

HER LOVER 

And then I saw your face and in your eyes 
I read what was to be. 

THE LADY 

In my eyes ? No — 
You have forgot ! I read that end in yours. 



IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 97 

HER LOVER 

And we two rose and went together where 
We heard the twilight singing in the green. 

THE LADY 

Wonderful twilight singing in the green ! 

HER LOVER 

And then — 

THE LADY 

And then, oh sweet ! I know it well — 

HER LOVER 

You know it ? — 

THE LADY 

Let me go ! I too did dream. 



THE STORM 

The wind was a crowd, 
Wet birds were the skies, 

I marched laughing aloud 
With the storm in my eyes. 

Part beast and part bird, 

A waif of the plain, 
My laughter was heard 

With the voice of the rain. 

I thought I remembered 

A night long ago 
When our hoofs beat the sod 

And we rushed to and fro. 

Our flanks steaming hot. 
Rain-driven and warm! 

I had almost forgot 

Till I ran with the storm. 

I thought I remembered 
Black roads to a star. 

When the wind in our pinions 
Beat us up and afar. 



THE STORM 99 

How shrill were our cries, 
As we flew from the plain ! 

Oh that road to the skies, 
Beaten up by the rain ! 

The flails of the storm 

Beat my soul from its mesh. 

It paled like a mist. 

Driven out of the flesh. 

It flew through the night 

To my mother's warm hand. 

But I — I was abroad 

With the wind and the sand. 

Unhuman and strange, 

'Twixt the rain and the stone, 
I must flutter and range 

Through the dark all alone ! 

The darkness. 

The wetness, 

The sleekness. 

The fatness 
Of shapes in the tempest 
Submerged, with no name. 
As with laughter and shout 



LofO. 



loo THE STORM 

And a clapping of hands 
I danced in and out 
Or clove in the sands. 
As straight as the lightning 
I struck and I came — 
The storm was the thunder, 
And I was the flame. 

It was thus that I ran 

To the House on the Hill, 

When the voice of love 
Bade the tempest be still. 

Then I gathered me back 
From the rain and the sand 

To the soul held so close 
In my mother's warm hand. 



TO DUST RETURNING 

Scene : The palace garden^ in the centre of which 
stands a sun-dial. The King, absorbed in medi- 
tation^ watches the shadow move across the dial's 
face. The Court Fool, a fantastic figure^ 
enters^ with a superb air^ holding in his hand 
something which cannot be seen. He is pursued 
by pages ^ youths^ and maidens of the court. 

CROWD 

Fool ! Fool ! 

A YOUTH 

He swears that in his hand he holds 
The bulwarks of the earth ! 

A GIRL {to King) 

Sire, is it true ? 

A YOUTH 

His hand contains great empires ! 

A page 

Kingdoms ! 



I02 TO DUST RETURNING 

GIRL 

Crowns ! 
A YOUTH {to Jester) 
Prove it ! give me a star ! 

A GIRL {to King) 

Oh Sire, he says 
That in his hand he holds a power and glory 
More great than yours ! 

A YOUTH {to Jester) 

Then grant to us our wishes ! 

FOOL 

Wish ! And I '11 grant it ! 

1ST girl 
Please, some satin sHppers ! 

FOOL 

I have them here ! 

1ST GIRL 

Painted with flying cherubs ? 

FOOL 

With flying cherubs ! Lined with sky blue satin ! 



TO DUST RETURNING 103 

YOUTH 

I want a kingdom ! 

FOOL 

Kingdoms ? I have plenty. 

2D GIRL 

A scarlet bonnet ! 

3D GIRL 

I would like a lover. 
In splendid rich apparel ! Have you got him ? 

FOOL 

Bonnets and lovers jostle one another. 

BOY 

I want a war-horse white as milk, and stamping ! 

1ST CHILD 

Some wooden soldiers ! 

2D CHILD 

And a little trumpet ! 

A PAGE 

Glory I want ! 



I04 TO DUST RETURNING 

FOOL 

My hand is full of glory. 

OLD MAN 

I 'm blind ! I want to die ! 

FOOL 

I 've death abundant. 

CROWD 

A dancing monkey ! Jewels ! Stars ! 

FOOL {addressing the King) 

And you ? 

KING {pointing to the shadow on the dial^ 

I want an answer to the creeping shadow 
That marks off time. 

FOOL {holding his hand high above his head^ 

Look, then ! I have the answer 
To everything that is. This small right hand 
Contains the sum of all desires — the bourne 
For which life strives — the solace unto death ! 
I have more power in this fragile hand 
Than kings may covet ; all the heritage 
Of them that reign — kingdoms and battles, 
powers. 



TO DUST RETURNING 105 

Banners and hosts of war, and crowns and thorns, 
Aye, and the kings that wear them — 

KING 

Fool, explain this, 

FOOL 

Wonderful hand ! It is so full of stars 

I hardly hold them ! It is splashed with scarlet ! 

Thunders and tumult — these go streaming 

through it ! 
A thousand battles rock and riot in it ! 
Cities are in it — I can hear them breathing — 
Kingdoms and crowns, yes, nations have I here ! 
And hearts ! My child, those cherub painted 

slippers 
Are mad in it for dancing ! A scarlet bonnet 
Flames among fallen cities ! I hold the sum 
And substance of this world. Oh look ! The 

glory ! 
I see it trickling out between my fingers ! 
Easy to capture it ! I reached my hand 
And scooped up splendor ! 

CROWD 

Give ! Oh, show it ! Give us ! 



io6 TO DUST RETURNING 

FOOL 

Then take — 

(Lets fall handful of dust) 

KING 

It 's dust ! 

FOOL 

What would you have ? This world 
From dust created, unto dust returns. 



A GIRL'S SONG IN THE WILDERNESS 

I WOULD not lose one joy nor grief. 
No boon that is the world's to give. 
The flower and the fading leaf, 
Love, let us take them while we live. 
Love, let us take them while we live, — 
The laughter and the hurrying kiss. 
Ah, sweet, 't is all so fugitive. 
Never again shall we have this. 

They say there is a land, my dear. 
Where there is honey, milk, and wine. 
But there 's no road could lead me there 
Unless thy lips had matched with mine. 
Unless thy lips had matched with mine, 
If we had lost a single kiss. 
In Paradise we should repine. 
Never again shall we have this. 

In that fair land that smiles afar. 
Grow laughing trees of merrier breed, 
But where 's a glory, in what star, 
Shaped like a coriander seed ! 
Shaped like a coriander seed ! 



io8 A GIRL'S SONG 

Gather the manna, take the kiss. 
To-morrow brings us more indeed, 
Never again shall we have this ! 

So let us love and touch and kiss 
And weep and part and dance and play, 
Never again shall we have this 
That is a rosy cloud by day ! 
That is a rosy cloud by day ! 
A fire at night along the sky ! 
Love, let us love while yet we may, 
Let us be kind before we die ! 



THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 

I HAVE grown wise with littleness. 
The Lord of Might is full of prettiness. 

I see the skies 

And they are old no more, 

But in its infancy all lies 

Upon its mother's knee. 

Her face I cannot see, 
But I can see thy laughter and thy smiles. 
Oh innocent heaven, when she sings to thee. 

Fluttering faces shine. 

All laughter, out of rock and pine. 

Prettiness is abroad. 
Thou lovest prettiness ; dost Thou not, oh Lord ? 

Since Thou didst make it ! 
And small round things Thou hast shaped to cun- 

ningness. 
Of old I thought Thee terrible and far — 

Lodged in a star. 
But now I know that Thou art near to bless 
And that Thy Hand can comfort and caress. 

Come, little Lord, 
And stroke the pretty water with thy hand. 



no THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 

So small, so fine, 

So dainty sweet it is ! 
Soft stepping, gray, and full of mysteries. 

In thy hand hold it — 

Love it, enfold it. 

Then let it go again ! 
Why now its voice is multiple as the rain. 
A silly water — yet mighty to withstand 
Because my child has held it in his Hand. 

Oh this new world I never saw before ! 

Thy world, my baby ! Looking through thine eyes 

I see such things to pleasure and surprise ! 

Of yore 
'T was but an apple hanging on a tree, 
But now I clap my hands with thee ! 
Wonderful ! 

Ah how well I see it now ! 
Beautiful ! 

Crimson on a gay green bough ! 
Astonishing ! 

What art thou ? 

Whence camest thou ? 

Thou never wert before ! 
Canst thou sing ? 

Is it a bird that flies on a red wing ? 
My darling, we have seen a marvelous thing. 



THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH iii 

Oh thou new man ! 
I look around with thy delighted eyes 
And old things have new graces. 
And when thou smilest into haggard faces 
Old, desolate, overwise, crafty, or full of scorn, 
Thou seest another face beneath that one for- 
lorn — 

The look of a child ; 

And no one knew save thou 
How it was lurking in the mouth and brow. 

Oh I have cried 
When in the weary folk that come to thee 
I see the small child that they used to be 
Take courage, and thinking it time to play. 

Steal wistfully out. 

And so forget 
The unkind tale of death and sin and doubt 
That sent them crying — 

While thou wilt laugh aloud 
To see so many children in a crowd — 
Such sweets, such darlings ! 

Looking with these eyes 

I find in all men dearnesses, 

Sweet sounds, clearnesses. 
That show their souls perfect as water or air. 
The smiling earth reveals its secret to me — 

I have grown wise. 



112 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 

And knowledge ever making all things fair 
Shows me this common earth is Paradise. 

Now I will sing thee a song 

Of thy little brothers — 
All things that haunt the field and wood, 
Four-footed, furry, wild, and good ! 
And there are other loves beside. 
Come hither, all ye loves that glide 
Among the grasses ; shadows of things, 
And wonderful thin murmurings. 
Memories of clouds lodged in the wings 

Of birds at rest from the sky, 
Light on the under side of flowers. 
The subtly shining air begetting showers. 

Gray weeds. 

Flying seeds. 
And here 's a pebble shaped round and small. 

Pink as a rose. 
With its own shadow on the sand. 
Which somehow seems as marvelous and grand 
As a great mountain's. Ay — no less 
It seems to cool us, comfort us, and bless 

For this enchanting spell of littleness 

Around and over all. 

These are thy playmates now — 
Flower-fine pebble and the small brown seed. 
Say, " I am little with thee ! " to the weed, 



THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 113 

And to the pebble, " Small and still as thou." 

Strange peoples that live in the dust, 

Call them up and share thy crust. 

Wild folk with fretful eyes, 

Ah, how tame that savage lies. 

Plaintive folk, no more perplexed. 

Play around my child unvexed. 

And all the wandering clans of air and light, 

And sullen tribes that take by stealth the night. 
There 's none so small, bewildered, far. 
But that these thy brothers are. 

Mother Beast, Mother Beast, with the wild, woe- 
ful eyes ! 
By that same milk by which we feed our young. 
And the great peace that we alike have shared 

After the bearing — 

I bore him not alone. 
Not only of the Spirit I got my Son, 
But of the remembering flesh whose good, great 

pains 
Did so pierce down into the roots of things 

That when I gave him birth 

I felt the dark and lamentable earth 
Sluggishly bearing stones. I was dissolved 

Into a pained element, and so 

I felt stars in me grow. 



114 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 

I rocked with the sea, 
Begetting mammoths ; old and savage moods, 
Birth pangs of animals in secret woods 

I felt in me. 

Am I not simple and great even as these ? 
Betwixt the breasts of the brown nourishing 

earth, 
In the hallowed lap betwixt her bosom and 
knees, 

I lie with a great mirth ! 

Not like a maid, ashamed. 

But full of pride 
Laughing I spread my breasts for every one 
To see them ample, boisterous, and wide. 
With the strong earth milk that has nourished 

my Son. 
For I was not one woman, I was many. 
When Heaven descended to me from above 
And like a cloud dropped softly on my breast, 

Filled me with rest. 
I had no fear before the Holy Ghost, 
Freely my soul partook of Paradise. 

Tolerable was the glory of thy wing. 
Oh thou great Angel — and thy breaking kiss 
Was not so perilous to my flesh as this. 
The terror of animals and our mortal need 



THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 115 

That so possessed me, when, 

Living in my body, the thousand hands 

of men 
Received the stinging seed. 

From the remembering flesh that in it bore 
The thoughts of old dead peoples and their 
dreams 

I made thee, O Lord. 
From the remembering flesh that cried aloud 
With the strong voice of Rahab the harlot's 
blood 

I created Thee, God. 
From the astonished flesh, pitifully wrought 
With dreams and angers of despairing Cain, 

I made Thee, O Lord. 
Out of the sorrowing of wistful Eve 
And from the tissue of her smiles and tears 

I created Thee — God. 
From Adam's tumultuous body, whose lust and 

mirth 
Danced heavily in him and from the great de- 
spair — 

I made Thee, O Lord. 
Out of the eagerness of boys and girls 
That long for kisses in the flower of spring 

I created Thee, God. 



ii6 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 

{Thou shalt go to the dance in a scarlet robe^ my 

Son.) 
From the flesh of the fool that laughing in his 

heart 
Cried with an empty voice, " There is no God," 

I made Thee, O Lord. 
From the wistfulness of animals that die. 
From our desire and from our mortal need, 
From the prayer we raise and our delight in Thee, 

I created Thee, God. 
And perished races, rising up in me. 
Fashioned thee wildly of my little dust 
And breathed upon thy face the image of man, 

And created Thee, God. 

Thou hast forgotten how thou didst make the 
world 

And how these hands 
Did shape the planets. Burning they all have run 
Between thy fingers. 

Five fingers hast thou^ sweety 

The first one says^ I want some food. 

The second says^ A plum is good. 
Ah — hadst thou lived remote among the stars. 
The Master of us, we had come to hate ! 
But now thou hast the need of us, and who 
Can hurt a thing so helpless and so small ! 



THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 117 

The third one says^ that won't do ! 
The fourth one hurries on its shoe. 
How safe we are, tenderly wrought together ! 
How still we lie amid the strange sweet weather 
That is the hollow of God's hand. 

Yet now 
My garments change to mine own eyes. 
Mellow are they as with the bloom of years. 

How long 
Have I sat with Thee thus ? Is it all time ? 

Lie still. 
Thou hast no grief thy Mother cannot heal. 

Yet lo— 
Within my garments I hear a sound of woe, 
Of sorrow and of everlasting tears. 

Sleep Thou ! 
The fifth one whispers^ I HI go see 
If an apple 's dropped from the apple tree. 



LADIES FAIR 

Ladies Fair, oh, what are we ? 

Fond or foolish or unwise ? 
That it is our lot to be 

Made more lovely by men's eyes. 

If our looks can shine more bright 
It shall be at our own whim. 

Let us dwell in native light 
Without any thought of Him. 

O my dears, we may not so ! 

Beauty comes not by desire ! 
But how soon we feel it grow 

If they see us and admire. 

When our souls in time of flower 
Needs must blossom or repine, 

They can wake us in an hour ! 
If they love us, how we shine ! 

Suddenly we hold our breath 

While the trembling beauty grows. 

We can feel it underneath, 

And the sunshine lifts the rose ! 



LADIES FAIR 119 

Though we love you not, forbear ! 

Be not vexed that heard but nay ! 
Since your love has kept us fair 

As the earth is v^^ith the day. 

And our souls are robed with dew 

In the old and vernal dress, 
And we shine and are made new 

With your love of loveliness. 

Ladies Fair, oh, what are we ? 

Fond or foolish or unwise ? 
Still it is our lot to be 

Made more lovely by men's eyes ! 



GRIEVE NOT, LADIES 

Oh, grieve not, ladies, if at night 
Ye wake to feel your beauty going. 

It was a web of frail delight. 
Inconstant as an April snowing. 

In other eyes, in other lands, 

In deep fair pools, new beauty lingers, 
But like spent water in your hands 

It runs from your reluctant fingers. 

Ye shall not keep the singing lark 
That owes to earlier skies its duty. 

Weep not to hear along the dark 

The sound of your departing beauty. 

The fine and anguished ear of night 
Is tuned to hear the smallest sorrow. 

Oh, wait until the morning light ! 

It may not seem so gone to-morrow ! 

But honey-pale and rosy-red ! 

Brief lights that made a little shining ! 
Beautiful looks about us shed — 

They leave us to the old repining. 



GRIEVE NOT, LADIES 121 

Think not the watchful dim despair 

Has come to you the first, sweet-hearted ! 

For oh, the gold in Helen's hair ! 

And how she cried when that departed ! 

Perhaps that one that took the most, 
The swiftest borrower, wildest spender. 

May count, as we would not, the cost — 
And grow more true to us and tender. 

Happy are we if in his eyes 

We see no shadow of forgetting. 

Nay — if our star sinks in those skies 
We shall not wholly see its setting. 

Then let us laugh as do the brooks 
That such immortal youth is ours, 

If memory keeps for them our looks 
As fresh as are the spring-time flowers. 

Oh, grieve not. Ladies, if at night 
Ye wake, to feel the cold December ! 

Rather recall the early light 

And in your loved one's arms, remember. 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 

(a monologue in regard to heredity) 

Once, when the Scholar — in his book, you know, 

That talks of Ids and Biophors and so 

Makes much rebellious dreaming come and go — 

With that great nonchalance of his, my ease 
Had interrupted ; (Ids ! Such things as these ! ) 
I sought myself through earth and fire and 
seas; 

And found it not — but many things beside ; 
Behemoth old. Leviathans that ride, 
And protoplasm, and jellies of the tide. 

Then wandering upward through the solid earth 
With its dim sounds, potential rage and mirth, 
I faced a dim Forefather of my birth, 

And thus addressed Him : " All of you that lie 
Safe in the dust or ride along the sky — 
Lo, these and these and these ! But where 
am I ? 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 123 

" Before the day that brought me forth had found 

me, 
Your subtle raiment wrapped itself around me, 
Even when I was not your faint hands had bound 

me. 

" Thou silent minister of joy and pain, 
Weaving a shroud more subtle than the rain 
That lingers white along the fallen grain ; 

" Since thy hands made me — but not fair, not 

fine ! — 
Then at the end some piteous look of thine 
Must plead forgiveness for these sins of mine." 

Thus did I speak, while that poor face arraigned 
me — 

" 'T was thy frail spirit in my heart detained me. 

Thy thought, wrought strangely in my own, con- 
strained me." 

For when She leaned to Him in the great bliss 
(Oh I were wrong to tell their spirits this — ) 
All my life's sweetness went to make that kiss ! 

Now, when I beg them, as my hunger must, 
Laughing they lay into my hands of trust 
The Dead Sea apple that is full of dust. 



124 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 

How they have bruised me ! From this soul of 

mine 
Danced out the vintage and drank up the wine. 

For when the master bade them in to sup, 
Between hot hands they snatched the golden cup, 
Lo — I was in it — and they drank me up. 

So I was spent, as wind is among sand. 
In solemn splendors of the saraband. 

Yet I, condemned by them to such vast leisure. 
Can laugh to think of that great storm of pleas- 
ure, — 
Those mad dead feet that danced so wild a meas- 
ure. 

Those pitying eyes ! I will not let them see 
How I go frail for want of strength in Thee. 
I will not make them shed new tears for me. 

Poor eyes that looked on love so many years. 
Filled with desire thereof — knowing no fears — 
Looking through mine are blinded now with tears. 

Poor feet, that once tumultuous would go. 
Now wistfully in mine must creep so slow^ 
I could have run too, but ye said me no. 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 125 

Poor lips that kissed so much, in such hat haste, 
And left me nothing out of so much waste^ 
How have ye come now to the great distaste ! 

Rocked in the whirlwind of their son's desires. 
Their bosoms blow upon a blast of fires. 
Oh, wind of flame that through my melting bone 
Blows the white faces of my burning sires. 

For they that leave no sons are comforted, 
So placidly their downward steps are led 
To those vague nations moving in the dust, 
Serene, secure, and being dead, are dead ! 

But these that bore a child shall never be 

Delighted with the elements and free. 

They make of body and soul their Heaven and 

Hell, 
And they, being dead, shall live again in me. 

Last night those melancholy pilgrims came. 

Her tender feet were sandaled in a flame 

And His soul's raiment was the cloth of shame. 

" Feast thou, my son " — but ye have eaten the 

bread ! 
" Dance thou, my son " — Ye have broken the 

pipes, I said. 



126 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 

So through my heart in desolate array — 
They pass and pass and are uncomforted. 

How strangely woven of their pain and bliss 
Is my soul's fabric. I was wrought of this — 
Their exquisite and unforgivable kiss. 

So of this dual breathing was I made, 
Fragile, eternal, wonderful, afraid. 
Rapturous, guilty, flaunting and dismayed. 

While their thin laughter echoing in my bone 
Reminds me that my flesh is not my own. 
Hands off, hands off^, and let my soul alone | 

I cannot blame them for the deed they did, 
Bearing in me the small satiric Id — 
The reproachful secret in the pyramid. 

But I am weary of the hoarded gold, 

The woven garments, stained and manifold. 

The shames, still scarlet, splendid yet and old. 

In all the woven tissue of my doom 

What thread is mine ? What thread ? Wrapped 

in a gloom 
Strange hands have whirled the pattern from the 

loom. 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 127 

And my young dreams of cloud and fire and star. 
Of powers and splendors, shining from afar. 
Fade from that web where those dim workers 
are. 

A metal meant for God — I know not when 
My Lord refused me — but the hands of men 
Have marked me Caesar's. Let Caesar have me, 
then. 

Scribe, (that, writing with such bitter tears 
Colors the page with his own atmospheres !) 
Think not to hide that legend from the years. 

The antique tale, erased yet faintly guessed. 
Blurs the new writing on the palimpsest. 

Heredity, that drives the weak and great. 
With hostile lips I kiss thy robes of state. 
Such homage wilt thou ask of me, O Fate ! 

Once when I spread the altar clean and white 

And lit thereon a solitary light. 

She brushed it out, and left me in the night. 

When I would ease me with the wine and bread, 
Her hands bestow it, and uncomforted 

1 ask for God, receiving her instead. 



128 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 

When did that silent priestess enter in, 

Her secret ceremonials begin ? 

She officiates strangely, even unto sin. 

Sometimes she turns on me a smiling face 

And to my asking heart confers a grace. 

How old it is and brought from what old place ! 

Touched by how many hands ! With moods 

divine 
Burnished how long, so wonderful to shine ! 
Now given to me — but oh, not mine, not mine ! 

Strange savor of all virtue ! Ancient worth ! 
How have we pilgrims brought out of the earth 
Heirlooms of laughter and an antique mirth. 

My heart cries out, amid their fashioning, 

" Lord, I am weary ! Give me some fresh thing," 

As the earth cries for newness in the spring. 

Oh for some thunder that should rush through me 1 

Some rain to purge me utterly of Thee, 

And leave me naked and small, barren and free. 

Then I would drift and drive, splendidly bare. 
Earnest and simple, choosing all things fair. 
Plain as the sunshine, supple as the air. 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 129 

For what are we but such as they who go 
With anxious footsteps hunting to and fro 
For a dear comrade, lost amid the show ? 

I elbowed one that was an empty fool, 
Touched a girl's hand, oh, beautiful and cool ! 
And talked with sage professors from a school. 

There was a tent. I heard His voice inside. 

So in I went — but at the door espied 

The pale snake-charmer, vague and heavy-eyed. 

I saw His face afar — oh, brow of flame ! 

Plain element of Heaven ! but when I came 

It was the flaunting clown with mouth of shame, 

I saw His eyes — but turning, in a cage 

Beheld the boar amid the persiflage 

Of the light crowd preserve his ancient rage. 

I felt His breath — but sullen from his lair 
I saw the great vindictive lion stare 
In all the solemn grandeurs of despair. 

I saw a guise familiar by the gate. 

" He brings me some fair news," I cried. Too 

late! 
There stood a sandwich vendor and I ate. 



130 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 

Into that tent, omnivorous and brown, 

I saw the hurrying hordes of them drive down, 

Until the huge thing murmured like a town. 

Then I, who missed the One I sought for, went. 

But as I wandered in bewilderment 

My body hummed like that articulate tent» 

While traveling with me, many a weary mile. 
Amused, satiric, watchful all the while. 
Moved the perpetual Scholar, with a smile. 

For as I watched the caravan go by. 
Strange, yet familiar, came the wonted cry, 
'' Yes ! these and these and these ! But where 
am I ! " 

Then spoke that rapt Philosopher, that bore 
The little, restless, splendid Biophor. 
" Thou art not, truly. Nay, what wouldst thou 
more ? 

" O fretful ! foolish ! thin and vague and high ! 
O Egotist ! O Modern ! With that cry. 
Think you to startle time ? I — I — I — I ! 

*' What dream hast thou of what thyself might be ? 
What star, what cloud, what flame is lit in thee ? 
Bright terrible delusion, fair to see ! 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 131 

'* For you that say, with vanity half hid, 

'I willed and said and made and had and did' — 

Look you, with curious eyes, upon the Id. 

" That little Ark, that peopled with a brood 
Of dreams, desires, portents, rides the flood, 
Rocks on forever through thy wistful blood. 

" Behold in it how many lives arrayed ! 
Wild, hostile, loving, exquisite, afraid, 
All living things that God has ever made. 

" Here is thy will, thy war, thy heavenly fire, 
Thy dust, thy want, thy labor, and thy hire. 
The dream, the anger, and the old desire. 

" Through this small Id the old barbarians rove, 
And ancient hierarchies slowly move — 
And kings and clowns and slaves — and hate and 
love. 

" For what art Thou ? Why nothing, friend, at 

all — 
Except the echo of a reckless call 
Or as a simple shadow on a wall. 

" For as the fragile cloud accepts the air 
Thy thoughts receive their thoughts, and every- 
where 
They blow thy dreams about. Thou art not there. 



132 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 

" fVhat Dream hast thou ? " Then through my 

soul there came 
A light that burned through weariness and shame, 
The virginal presence of the clean, first flame. 

" What Dream hast thou f " Then with a heart of 

trust 
I felt the sharp and exquisite swift thrust 
Of swords of angels, flashing through the dust. 

O fluttering fire ! O little pale blue wreath ! 

radiant substance, hovering over death ! 
This, then, is I, made of God's living breath. 

And I am new and wonderful and fair ! 

'' What star^ what cloudy what flame ? " The 

angels share 
Even with my heart their breathing of first air ! 

Apart, above, beneath, beyond, within, 

1 laugh at this vast heritage of sin. 

That God that made me armed my soul to win. 

Slowly I feel the ancient custom fall 
Like shattered rain from off a steady wall. 
And great " / will " is stronger than them all. 



THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 133 

For if those hordes that terribly must ride 
Drive through my heart and leave their grief in- 
side, 
God also wanders there at eventide. 

Man from the dust and woman from the bone, — 
But oh, we were not wrought of these alone ! 
God, with His Heavenly spirit, breathed thereon. 

Last night the old ancestral pageant came, 
Bearing the ancient virtue and the shame. 
God, in my hand, had written a New Name. 



GLADNESS 

The world has brought not anything 
To make me glad to-day ! 

The swallow had a broken wing, 

And after all my journeying 

There was no water in the spring, — 
My friend has said me nay. 

But yet somehow I needs must sing 
As on a luckier day. 

Dusk falls as gray as any tear. 

There is no hope in sight ! 
But something in me seems so fair. 
That like a star I needs must wear 
A safety made of shining air 
Between me and the night. 
Such inner weavings do I wear 
All fashioned of delight ! 

I need not for these robes of mine 

The loveliness of earth, 
But happenings remote and fine 
Like threads of dreams will blow and 
shine 



GLADNESS 135 

In gossamer and crystalline. 

And I was glad from birth. 
So even while my eyes repine. 

My heart is clothed in mirth. 



TO NATURE 

I LOVE thee, sweet, because thou art so sure, 
Beautiful always. Never a mood of ours 

Has touched thine eyes with sorrow. Thou dost 
endure 
Tranquil amid thy sunshine and thy showers. 

And thou art rich and delicate and pure, 
Serene as Heaven dallying among flowers. 

A solace amid woe is this to me. 

That though we perish, still the world is fair. 
We cannot, by lamenting, darken thee, 

Nor with our tears wash out thy beauty rare. 
Still shall a violet evening please the sea. 

And a pale splendor satisfy the air. 



SERVICE 

If I could only serve him, 

How sweet this life would be. 

Last night I dreamed my darling, 
Alive, returned to me. 

I brought him from the cupboard 
The things he liked to eat, — 

The little piece of honey, 
The rye bread and the meat. 

I sang the song he asked for 
The night he went away. 

How was it, when I loved him, 
I could have said him nay ! 

I took the time to please him. 
With a hand upon his brow. 

Amid the awful leisure 
There was no hurry now. 

How strange I once denied him 
What took so little while. 

A kiss would seem so simple. 
So slight a thing a smile. 



138 SERVICE 

With pleased sweet looks of wonder 
He took what I could give, — 

Such words as we deny them 
Only because they live. 

The pale light of the morning 
Shone in upon the wall. 

Come back to me, my darling, 
And I will give you all. 



OH, TELL ME THAT THE BIRD HAS 
WINGS 

Oh, tell me that the bird has wings ! 

Oh, say the sky is blue ! 
I think I never knew these things 

Till they were said by you. 

And yet — I feel as wise, as wise 

As a great star may do. 
That leans its cheek into the skies ! 

So must I lean to you. 

And yet — as fresh as trees in spring. 

As simple as the dew — 
I seem to know not anything. 

Made innocent with you. 



FIRST SIGHT 

I WAS born again to-day ! 

I was fashioned new ! 
Now my heart is fresh with May 

Virginal as dew ! 

What it was I cannot tell. 

Something on my eyes 
Exquisitely breathed and fell 

And I grew more wise. 

Goldenly it breathed and kissed. 

Now the world is plain — 
All the glories I had missed 

In shine and air and rain. 

Just a little while before 

It was all disguised. 
Now the earth seems so much more 

That I am surprised. 

I could touch and hold and kiss 

Everything I see ! 
Say then, was it always this, 

Waiting just for me ? 



FIRST SIGHT 

Oh, to think that yesterday 

It was shining so ! 
Yet my poor heart could delay 

And my eyes said no ! 



141 



TO BEAUTY 

I WOULD not have thee far away 

By whom I must be led. 
I needs must have thee every day 

To be my meat and bread. 

For if there be unlovely things 

Wherein no radiance glows, 
I '11 kiss them till their folded wings 

Shall blossom like the rose ! 

Oh, be thou beautiful, I '11 say, — 

And save me with delight ! 
Then each dark thing will smile like day 

Between me and the night. 

I '11 listen till I make them speak, 
By need will make them wise ! 

As love calls blushes to the cheek 
Or laughter to the eyes. 

For where love lays its trusting kiss 
There Beauty needs must be 

And so I '11 turn the world to bliss 
Until it shines like thee. 



THE BLESSfiD HANDS OF SLEEP 

I LAY me down with sighs and tears 

After a barren day, 
Yet every morning I awake 

Innocent and gay. 

The sunbeams sparkle in my soul 
As if 't were bathed in dew ! 

I feel so simple and surprised, 
Exquisite and new ! 

Little I feel and like a child 

With laughter I arise. 
This common earth revealed and bright 

Shines like Paradise. 

Betwixt the blessed hands of sleep 

I lay my heart, and lo ! 
She heals me of my grief, and now 

Merrily I go. 

Oh, strange and lovely sleep, that Thou 

After a sorrowing day 
•Canst send me forth like any child. 

Innocent and gay ! 



WHO WON THE DAY 

RoNSARD, the gay devil, ran under the guns ! 
He 'd be off if you bade him to pluck at the suns. 
Quoth the little Pierrot, " Will you see how he 

runs ! " 
He jumped up and down in delight at the show — 
" I could do it myself," cried the little Pierrot. 

Who won the day ? 
Phillippe and Landre ! 
These laughed at the fray ! 
Bonaparte ? No ! 
Who won the day ? 
Jacques and Stoiflet ! 
Ronsard and Rene 
And the little Pierrot. 

Jacques waved a girl's kerchief high over his head. 
" They can see me the better," he merrily said. 
Quoth the little Pierrot, " Will he laugh when 

he 's dead ? " 
He had only been kissed by his mother, but — 

« Oh ! 
I could do it myself! " cried the little Pierrot. 



WHO WON THE DAY 145 

Who won the day ? 
Phillippe and Landre ! 
These laughed at the fray ! 
Bonaparte ? No ! 
Who won the day ? 
Jacques and Stoiflet ! 
Ronsard and Rene 
And the little Pierrot ! 

Pierrot laughed aloud. " So little ? " says he ! 
" If the chance is so small the Lord sized it for 

me ! " 
They had held the lad back, but he begged to be 

free. 
He cried like a child for his toy, and so 
They must needs give his death to the little 

Pierrot. 

Who won the day ? 
Phillippe and Landre ! 
These laughed at the fray ! 
Bonaparte ? No ! 
Who won the day ? 
Jacques and Stofflet ! 
Ronsard and Rene 
And the little Pierrot. 



THE SLEEP IN GETHSEMANE 

Into the dark Christ turned away. 
He spoke to the Three and bade them stay. 
" Sit ye and watch while I go pray." 
O Lord^ pity us ! 

Peter dreamed of a barley cake. 
It up and talked when he fain would break. 
He laughed in his sleep till his sides 'gan ache ! 
O Lord^ pity us ! 

James had a dream that his brothers' ass 
Fell down dead where the pilgrims pass. 
He heaved in his sleep and cried " alas." 
O Lord^ pity us ! 

" Nay," quoth John, " but I '11 take no rest ! " 
He thought that he lay on the Lord Christ's 

breast. 
But it turned to a maid's, that he loved the best ! 
O Lord^ pity us ! 

Jesus looked upon their shame 
When bleeding out of the dusk he came. 
Three times over they did the same. 
O Lord^ pity us ! 



MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 

THE HEARTH 

God rest you all that linger here, 
Though you be strange you still are dear. 
Peace to your hearts, if you abide. 
Reflect, and give your souls to cheer. 

THE HALL 

Oh thou, the youngest of this race 
Sojourning now in their old place. 
Think thou kind thoughts and dream fair 

dreams. 
For such as this thy line beseems. 

THE EAVES 

If underneath the quiet eaves 
You hear the pushing of vague leaves — 
'T is these old beams, remembering 
How sweet the forests were in spring. 

THE PORCH 

I reach abroad my wistful palms. 
As beggars cry, " An alms, an alms." 
Leave thou some kindliness in me 
That these old rooms may better be. 



148 MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 

THE BEST ROOM 

All they that spent their days in grace 
Have left a blessing on this place. 
Then gentle be that speech that falls, 
Lest ye offend these placid walls. 

THE STAIR 

She was so young, so light, so fair ! 

I loved her footfall on the stair. 

Her voice fell bright through this dim air. 

I would have kept my dear, but she 

Like thou — like thou — must pass from me. 

THE CHAMBER 
I 

How intimate and yet how strange ! 
How calm I am that never change. 
All day I think, as I abide. 
How many folk have in me died. 

II 

To sleep, to dream, to smile, to lie 
And still dream on as night goes by. 
It may be when thy time shall come 
It shall not seem more sad to die. 



MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 149 

THE DUST 

Amid the clinging world I guess 
Their subtle hands contrive to bless. 
And from this ancient dust I see 
Ancestral eyes peer forth at me, 

THE KEEPING-ROOM 
I 

The thorn that by the wayside grows 
Comforts the pilgrim with a rose. 
Do thou, like him, to charm thy gloom 
Perceive the sweetness of this room. 

II 

If thou perchance shouldst see a face 
Smile at thee from an empty space. 
Or feel some presence, do not fear, 
Those ghosts are kind that loiter here. 

Ill 

I met a stranger in this room. 

He moved about and seemed at home. 

" Good sir," said I, " what dost thou here ? " 
He turned a pleasant face and said, 

" A hundred years have I been dead." 



I50 MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 

THE THRESHOLD 

Ye who have come to such an age 
Ye dream of that Great Pilgrimage, 
Think not to bid this roof farewell. 
Lo ! our old smiles shall give you rest 
In those new mansions of the blest. 

THE PLASTER ON THE CHIMNEY 

These words in time shall pass away 
And moulder with the mouldering clay. 
Learn thou that only passing things 
May know the blessedness of wings. 



THE COMMON LOT 

The sheets on which I rest at night 
Are sleepy fine and drowsy white. 
Among them are such soft caresses, 
And all enchanting sleepinesses. 

Arid when I go to wash my hands 
I touch the sweetness of the lands. 
What pretty water, swift and shy ! 
God love my little friend, say I ! 

The wonderful feeling in my feet 
That makes them glad to touch the street. 
While through the lanes and market-places 
Small happenings assume such graces 
The air seems full of smiling faces. 
And all the dull, least, common things 
Have singing breasts and beating wings, 

I let their speech sound in my ear — 
The wonderfully small and dear ! 

They all go singing day and night, 
The little children of delight. 



152 THE COMMON LOT 

The kind and simple shall not say 
" We piped to you the livelong day, 
But could not get you out to play." 

Nay, let me take their shy, small hands 
And dance among their innocent bands. 

A gray rain lives beneath the eaves, 
Green apples grow among green leaves. 

Some children in the street let fall 
Over our hedge a leather ball. 

My feet are glad to touch the ground. 
My clean skirt makes a pleasant sound. 

If I should go to wash my hands 

I should touch the innocence of the lands. 

The sheets on which I rest at night 
Are sleepy fine and drowsy white. 



SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 
I 

MY mother's clothes 

When I was small, my mother's clothes 

All seemed so kind to me ! 
I hid my face amid the folds 

As safe as safe could be. 

The gown that she had on 

To me seemed shining bright, 

For woven in that simple stuff 
Were comfort and delight. 

Yes, everything she wore 

Received my hopes and fears, 

And even the garments of her soul 
Contained my smiles and tears. 

Then softly will I touch 

This dress she used to wear. 

The old-time comfort lingers yet, 
My smiles and tears are there. 



154 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 

A tenderness abides 

Though laid so long away, 

And I must kiss their empty folds, 
So comfortable are they. 

II 

HER HANDS 

My mother's hands are cool and fair. 

They can do anything. 
Delicate mercies hide them there 

Like flowers in the spring. 

When I was small and could not sleep. 

She used to come to me, 
And with my cheek upon her hand 

How sure my rest would be. 

For everything she ever touched 

Of beautiful or fine. 
Their memories living in her hands 

Would warm that sleep of mine. 

Her hands remember how they played 
One time in meadow streams, — 

And all the flickering song and shade 
Of water took my dreams. 



SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 155 

Swift through her haunted fingers pass 
Memories of garden things ; — 

I dipped my face in flowers and grass 
And sounds of hidden wings. 

One time she touched the cloud that kissed 
Brown pastures bleak and far ; — 

I leaned my cheek into a mist 
And thought I was a star. 

All this was very long ago 

And I am grown ; but yet 
The hand that lured my slumber so 

I never can forget. 

For still when drowsiness comes on 

It seems so soft and cool, 
Shaped happily beneath my cheek, 

Hollow and beautiful. 

Ill 

HER WORDS 

My mother has the prettiest tricks 
Of words and words and words. 

Her talk comes out as smooth and sleek 
As breasts of singing birds. 



156 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 

She shapes her speech all silver fine 

Because she loves it so. 
And her own eyes begin to shine 

To hear her stories grow. 

And if she goes to make a call 

Or out to take a walk, 
We leave our work when she returns 

And run to hear her talk. 

We had not dreamed these things were so 

Of sorrow and of mirth. 
Her speech is as a thousand eyes 

Through which we see the earth. 

God wove a web of loveliness, 
Of clouds and stars and birds. 

But made not anything at all 
So beautiful as words. 

They shine around our simple earth 

With golden shadowings, 
And every common thing they touch 

Is exquisite with wings. 

There 's nothing poor and nothing small 
But is made fair with them. 



SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 157 

They are the hands of Hving faith 
That touch the garment's hem. 

They are as fair as bloom or air, 

They shine Hke any star, 
And I am rich who learned from her 

How beautiful they are. 

IV 

HER STORIES 

I always liked to go to bed — 

It looked so dear and white. 
Besides, my mother used to tell 

A story every night. 

When other children cried to go 

I did not mind at all. 
She made such faery pageants grow 

Upon the bedroom wall. 

The room was full of slumber lights, 

Of seas and ships and wings. 
Of Holy Grails and swords and knights 

And beautiful, kind kings. 

And so she wove and wove and wove 
Her singing thoughts through mine. 



158 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 

I heard them murmuring through my sleep, 
Sweet, audible, and fine. 

Beneath my pillow all night long 

I heard her stories sing, 
So spun through the enchanted sheet 

Was their soft shadowing. 

Dear custom, stronger than the years — 

Then let me not grow dull ! 
Still every night my bed appears 

Friendly and beautiful ! 

Even now, when I lie down to sleep. 

It comes like a caress. 
And still somehow my childish heart 

Expects a pleasantness. 

I find in the remembering sheets 

Old stories, told by her, 
And they are sweet as rosemary 

And dim as lavender. 



EVFS SONG 

They may not ever know 
By what dark thoughts I go, 
What roads lead to and fro 

To that dear place. 
But since the day our eyes 
Turned from its blessed skies, 
I have thrice seen Paradise, 

By God's good grace. 

Ay, thrice the angel's sword 

Has touched my heart, good Lord. 

According to thy word, 

I came by fire. 
And thrice those roads of pain 
Have broken my soul in twain, 
Yet it was not in vain, 

O Heart's Desire. 



When Adam on his side 
Turned heavily and cried. 
With laughter had I died 
To make him whole. 



i6o EVE'S SONG 

My heart was like to break 
For that sweet Eden's sake, 
Comfort thereof to take 
For his poor soul. 

Strong rain and bitter wind ! 
And we were lost and blind. 
All this of my frail mind 

Was come of me. 
But Adam spoke and said, 
" Love, I were comforted, 
Yes, raised although long dead, 

Being near to thee." 

{That place wherein I wait 

Is closed inviolate^ 

Shut in with the warm state 

Of angels^ wings. 
The trees that Jlame around 
Bear plumes of golden sounds 
And like the heart of the ground^ 

The ground bird sings^ 

II 

When, as we went forlorn, 
My ailing feet were torn 
With wound of many a thorn 
And grief of the stone. 



EVE'S SONG i6i 

I knew not any harm 
That had his looks for balm, 
He healed me with a calm 
Shed from his own. 

(^Softly the angels there 

Color the atmosphere 

As sweet rain takes the air 
In time of drouth. 
^-^ Her heart is broken" they said^ 
" Tet sings she like the Dead^ 

For she has Adam^s kiss 

Upon her mouth,"') 

III 

When, born to earth and stone. 
My Cain fared forth alone. 
With no heed to my moan, 

In angry-wise. 
Like a tree the storm has bent 
I rocked, being wholly spent, 
Yet by that road I went 

To Paradise. 

(No hope^ nor joy ^ nor fears ^ 
Laughter^ nor any tears^ 
Disturb those silent spheres 
Where I abide. 



i62 EVE'S SONG 

The waning and increase^ 
God maketh all this cease ; 
Only a great ^ good peace — r 
j^nd naught beside.) 



Yes, thrice the angel's sword 
Has touched my heart, good Lord. 
According to thy word, 

I came by fire. 
And thrice those roads of pain 
Have broken my soul in twain. 
Yet it was not in vain, 

O Heart's Desire ! 



THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 

What a happy folk are these — 
That the artist's hand has wrought 
On the curtain, gay as thought — 
Light as folly, how they please ! 

And the play that lived behind 

Passes, faint as any wind ! 

And we have not any mind 
Save for these ! 

Ah — this theatre-curtain ! Think awhile 
How the faces on it smile ! 
How they dance, 

Glance, 

Shine ! 

Columbine 
Leads her sportive pageant in 

With Harlequin ! 
Gay Pierrot! 

Sweet Pierrette ! 
We forget 

What 's the show 
Till the lights go out, and lo ! 

Romeo ! 

And Juliet ! 



1 64 THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 

And the motley — gone at last ! 
All the gay, 

Jesting throng 
Fled away ! 

Following after 

Went the laughter 

And the past 

Has their song ! 

Yet we know they '11 come again — 

That is sure ! 
Strange it is that in this world of men 
'T is our laughters that endure ! 
Only tears shall pass away. 
Sorrow vanish, like the play ! 
When all 's said and done there '11 fall 
A healing joy over all ! 

Even so 
Juliet weeps and Romeo 

Faints and dies — 
While following the voice of woe 
Comes the singing of Pierrot, 
And the laughter of Pierrette stops the sighs. 

Oh, the merriments of earth ! 

We do well — 
When we dance, sing, and smile ! 
Truly we were made for mirth ! 



THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 165 

And I love this painted throng ! 

Glad am I to know that after 

This sad play will come the laughter 

And the song. 
And I thank the hand that wrought 
Such delight with such a thought 
That the theatre-curtain falls 
Bringing joy by the hand, 
Singing dancers in a band — 
And a voice none can withstand 

Calls and calls — 
Like a day 

In sweet o' June I 
I forget the inner breath, 
Parting, fear, despair, and death, 
And my own feet dance away 

To the tune I 

Dears, who painted here do dwell — 
Flushed and gay, I love you well ! 
Oh, to bide as one of these I 
I could dance as well as they. 
Have my laughter and be gay ! 
And forget the strange old way 
So beset with mysteries. 

Columbine, 

The fine, 



1 66 THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 

And mocking — 
Lifts her skirt and shows her stocking ! 
Sweetheart, fie ! And foldero ! 
Maids and gallants in a row 

To the fair ! 
Oh, what are these whisperings. 
Like a sigh that breathes and clings ! 
If the saddened heart of things 
Breaks behind us, who 's to care ? 

I forswear 
Romeo and Juliet ! 
Rest ye, sweets ! I must forget 
How ye sorrowed, when Pierrette 
Whirls her timbrel in the air. 
Dancing down to seek the fair. 
How the motley crew comes prancing ! 
How they whirl and pirouette ! 
Gay Pierrot, 

Sweet Pierrette ! 
Swiftly glancing ! 

I forget 
Some one sorrowed ! Is it so ? 
Peace, it was so long ago. 
Prithee, pipe ! And let 's be dancing ! 
Faith ! This world 's a pleasant show ! 
Dears, I love it ! Here we go ! 
(^But the heart break ? Be it so^ 



THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 167 

Hi di di and tripping toe 

All the way ! 
I will kiss thee, one, two, three — 
An thou 'It give but one to me, 

And be gay ! 

Is it thine — this haunting fear ? 
This despair that breathes so near ? 
World-old sorrow 

What dost thou here r') 
'T is to-morrow ! 

Sweet my dear — 
Kiss! 

(O^, hush thee^ Juliet!^ 
This — 

Pierrette — 

Is all I ask ! 
Motley and a singing mask, 

And to forget ! 



THE PILGRIM 

Touch me not, mother, who art thou, 

To lay a hand on me ? 
My soul was driven through sun and moon 

Ere I was come to thee ! 

My soul was blown through the solid earth, 

It rode upon the sea. 
And the whirling planet brought me forth 

Ere I was come to thee. 

My feet have traveled by blood, by blood. 
That guts a road through the hearts of men. 

I lodged me safe beneath their mood 
And then drove on again. 

Touch me not, mother, for I must burn. 

Such ancient fires flame in me ! 
Frail web that caught a scattered pollen, 

I was not born of thee ! 

I must be strange, for I am far ! 

Oh, near and far as is the air ! 
I drank a strong milk out of a star — 

For lo ! thou wast not there. 



THE PILGRIM 169 

Touch me not, mother ! I was not held 
By pleading, stone, or solid seas. 

What is there in Thy wistful flesh 
More strong than these ? 



If Thou came out of the moon and star 

I plucked thee forth by my desire, 
I can hold thee burning in my hand ! 

It was my hand that shaped the fire ! 

If thou didst house thee in the mood 

Of folk that perished long ago^ 
It was the whisper in my blood 

That brought thee^ whether thou wouldst 
or no» 

I am more frail than water or stone ^ 

But yet I shall not let thee go ! 
Thou art my son^ and mine alone^ 

Because I love thee so ! 



A MOTHER'S SONG 

I HAVE not yet known Mother's grief 
For I can comfort thee. 
Child, I can smile above the tears 
So swiftly eased by me. 

I know in time my son shall grow 
Beyond his Mother's ken. 
And half a stranger he will go 
Among the world of men. 

Then shall I know a Mother's grief — 
His separate bitterness. 
My heart will break if his must ache 
With wounds I cannot guess. 

'T is little pain to bear a child 
Beside this other woe. 
To feel the helplessness to soothe 
The want that grieves him so. 

(/ hear a man cry in the dark^ 
He journeys on alone.) 
Lie close, lie close, my little son, 
While yet thou art my own. 



A MOTHER'S SONG i 

(^His heart is broken by stranger handsy 
I may not give him rest,) 
My darling one, my child, my Son ! 
I hold thee on my breast. 

{The heart in him is sick with need^ 
For help I may not give.) 
Perchance the smiles I spend on thee 
May help that stranger live. 

{Unhoused J along a barren road^ 
I hear a pilgrim weep.) 
But in his heart is the little song 
That sings thee now to sleep. 

{The bitter brand of this worWs shame 
Is sealed upon his brow.) 
But in his hand is a New Name — 
The kiss I give thee now ! 

For when my child is grown — is grown 
He '11 get this help from me, 
That now, while he is all my own, 
I rock him on my knee. 



CLOD OF THE EARTH 

Clod of the earth, that hardly knows 
How the warm sun comes or the cold rain 

goes, 
That lieth dumb and bleak and bare. 
It was thy thought begat the rose. 



THE DREAMING MAN 

" O Dreaming Man^ why dost thou go 
Serene as stars through clouds at nighty 
As safe as cold is among snow ^ 
Constant as laughter to delight ? 
What comforts thee and what high charm 
Has robed thee in Imperial calm ? " 

" O Dreaming Man^ across the west 
The darkening shades of night draw nigh." 
Brother, who seeks the eternal guest 
His sun sinks not in any sky, 
Time is ashamed and stars unsure 
And seasons pass, but I endure. 

" O Dreaming Man^ where are thy tears ? " 
Brother, they have no need to fall. 

" Tou drink not of the bitter years ? " 
Brother, I am more strong than all. 
I dreamed beyond the moon and sun 
I was a great and god-like one. 

He sat beneath the radiant trees 
That sing like birds, in Paradise. 



174 THE DREAMING MAN 

Since space and time were not of these, 
Eternal peace had made him wise. 
Upon God's breast, a darling child. 
He leaned his happy cheek and smiled. 

As the sea spheres its golden hands 
About the beauty of the moon. 
He held the round earth, the old lands, 
The night, the sunrise, and the noon. 
The wind, the tide, the shine, the sound. 
And time that circled round and round. 

And it was built out of his thought. 
And it was globed to his desire ; 
Out of his heart of love he brought 
The little lovely ball of fire, 
A sphered flame, a shape of bliss. 
Assured and safe he fashioned this. 

In that bright place, remote, afar. 
He flamed with God upon his throne, 
There was not any time nor star 
But he could have it for his own. 
Seasons and dooms about him crept, 
Superb he held the earth and slept. 

He dreamed that in a garden place 
He knew not anything at all. 



THE DREAMING MAN 175 

Only at dusk he saw God's face, 
And Eve shined through the interval. 
A little apple pleased his eye — 
" The forbidden fruit I eat — and die.' ' 

Exquisite with the day and night, 

And globular as music is. 

And roseate with his delight — 

The child of love, it all was his. 

The sunset through his fingers streamed 

Near to God's heart he slept and dreamed. 

He dreamed he was the angry Cain, 
Confused and sullen from his birth. 
He hid the white face of his slain. 
And cursed with it the barren earth. 
With solemn rituals of the dead — 
" I hate — and serve thee, Lord," he said. 

He was as beautiful as Love, 

God's hand had fashioned him so fair. 

As innocent as is the Dove 

He poised and shone in that great air I 

Like a white cloud that takes its rest 

He slept and dreamed upon God's breast. 

He thought that with a mouth of shame 
He broke his Master with a kiss. 



176 THE DREAMING MAN 

And oh — the everlasting flame 
That shall consume his soul for this. 
He swerved like fire from side to side. — 
" God — I have slain my God ! " he cried. 

He was as clean as oceans are, 
And like the day-spring he was fair, 
And he could dance like any star 
Over the highways of broad air. 
A splendor from his body streamed, 
He held the little earth and dreamed. 

He dreamed that as pale foliage dead 
His ashen body glimmered white. 
Among old bones he broke his bread 
Lamenting in the tombs at night. 
A piteous outcast barren and lean 
He beat his breast and cried " unclean." 

God's laws were as the trembling strings 
Wherefrom he plucked sweet mellow tones. 
And causes, strongest of all things, 
Were for his golden paving-stones. 
Wild forces, exquisite as birds. 
Were tamed by him, and knew his words. 

He dreamed he was so frail, so poor. 
He could be held by stone and fire, 



THE DREAMING MAN 177 

Yet melting rock could not endure 
Before the rod of his desire. 
He shut himself into a tomb; 
" What hand can raise me from rtiy doom ? " 

He thought he ran from pole to pole. 
And that he delved into the sun, 
Unraveled the bright web from a soul, 
And found it was not any one. 
He ate the grass and bit the sod. 
" Ye beasts," he cried, " there is no God.'' 

Yet sometimes, stirring in his sleep, 
God's fertile breath upon his eyes. 
The splendor makes his dream less deep. 
And half he sees his Paradise. 

then, stretched vast beyond the sky, 
The sleeper dreams that he is I. 

Bright as the silver waters are 
That girdle this dark earth around, 
As sure as light is to the star. 
Or as the silence to the sound- — 
Wrought fair within and breathed without, 

1 feel the sleeper all about. 

And well I know that I am he — 
For I am mightier than I seem. 



178 THE DREAMING MAN 

I am not the shape I look to be ; 
But I am greater than my dream. 
Amid the cloudy dust there shine 
High citadels that all are mine. 

The caravansary of the days 

A moment pitch their tents of light ; 

Then shadowed take their destined ways 

Over the deserts of dark night, 

And what black sand down which they went 

Remembers how they stretched their tent ? 

This solid earth is not so stout. 
It has a vague and shifting look. 
It runs like water all about. 
And trembles like the singing brook. 
Brightly it slips from out my hand, 
The little hour's worth of sand. 

When in a vault I once must lie 

And rock put on the heavy look, 

I saw sweet shapes through substance fly 

As sound is woven in a brook. 

Bright wandering faces breathed and shone. 

And smiling eyes blew through the stone. 

When terror takes me by the hair, 
I say " 'T is but the drift of sleep." 



THE DREAMING MAN 

And when distrust shall lay me bare, 
I laugh outside, while my eyes weep. 
For this which takes my heart to-day. 
While happening seems so far away. 

When from the dust I seek release, 
And my heart cries " I must be free," 
I plunge in that abyss of peace, 
That is the greater self of me. 
I swing submerged in that great tide. 
Whose oceans in my soul abide. 

*' O Dreaming Man^ how dost thou know ? " 
The dawn has touched this sleep of mine. 
The vapor wavers to and fro, 
And in my plumed wits there shine 
Strange eyes as out of peacock's wings 
And they behold great gorgeous things. 

Clothed in the scarlet of the skies 

At the high feast I sit elate. 

The flaming lights of Paradise 

Are for my ministers of state. 

White powers from my body stream — - 

I hold the little earth — and dream. 



179 



UNDER THE TREES 

The wonderful, strong, angelic trees, 

With their blowing locks and their bared great 

knees 
And nourishing bosoms, shout all together, 
And rush and rock through the glad wild 

weather. 

They are so old they teach me. 
With their strong hands they reach me, 
Into their breast my soul they take, 
And keep me there for wisdom's sake. 

They teach me little prayers ; 
To-day I am their child ; 
The sweet breath of their innocent airs 
Blows through me strange and wild. 

So many things they know. 

So learned with the ebb and flow 

By which the seasons come and go. 

Still the forefather stands 

With unforgetting eyes, 

Forever holding in his tranquil hands 

The fruit that makes us wise. 



UNDER THE TREES i8i 

So many things they hear, 
Whisperings small and dear ! 
The little lizard has a voice clear, 

Squirrel and mole. 

A wild and pleasant speech 

Our Lord has given to each. 
Dear masters, pray you teach 
The language of the woodchuck in his hole. 
So many things they praise 
In earnest, worshipful ways. 
The Little Moment and the Ancient of Days. 
To one they yield a flower 
That blossoms for an hour; 
The other they praise with all their singing 

blood 
That they so long have stood. 

So many things they love. 

The frail ecstatic gnats that move 

Like planets whirling in a sky, 

These do they lean above 

Even like Heaven, while they flame and die. 

Here are our neighbors, the good weeds, 

And, look you, all the brown industrious seeds 

With busy workmanship achieve 

Green citadels of grass. 

And minarets and domes of shining flowers. 



1 82 UNDER THE TREES 

Absorbed and radiant, perpetually they pass. 

The little workers with their subtle powers 

Lay their foundations in the sod, 

While the tree, that knows all from so long ago, 

Watches the busy weaving to and fro, 

And smiles on them like God. 

Now I am brave again. 

Strong again and pure. 

I have washed my spirit clean of men, 

I am established, sure. 

I have drunk the waters of delight 

From fountains that endure ; 

Yes, I have bathed my soul 

Where the rushing leaves carouse. 

I have drunk the air that freely flows 

And washes their green boughs. 

I never feel afraid 

Among the trees ; 

Of trees are houses made ; 

And even with these. 

Unhewn, untouched, unseen. 

Is something homelike in the safe sweet green. 

Intimate in the shade. 

Something remembered haunts me, 

A familiar aspect suddenly enchants me ; 



UNDER THE TREES 183 

These things were so 
When I was here^ hundreds of years ago. 

Oh, not to-day have I the first time seen 
This pool of sunshine, this bending green. 
This knotted soil, and underneath the stone 
The small gray water singing all alone. 
But when my naked soul came wandering down 
On the pilgrimage, kind hands did succor me 
And clothed me in the guise of grass or soil, 
Or a gnat maybe ! Making me a shelter 
Of root or stone ! For surely in their eyes 
I see a look of query and surmise, 

A begging for love, 
As humble parents look upon a child 

Returned more wise than they 
And strive with all they know to please him so 

That he will stay. 
Ah, he has traveled far, and many years been gone. 
Yet still he is their son, their son, their son ! 

My wistful kinsfolk, I will not forget 

Your simple patois ! Oh, 't were shame on me 

To grow oblivious to my father's speech ! 

But I will go 
With men, yes, with the angels, slipping so 
Into the old vernacular ! They will smile 



1 84 UNDER THE TREES 

To hear the sweet provincialisms come 
With tender thoughts of home. 

And God Himself 
When I am praising Him, with the great mirth 
And radiant ceremonials, will be kind. 
That even His Heaven has not rid my mind 
Of the quaint customs of my native earth. 

We are all brothers ! Come, let 's rest awhile 
In the great kinship. Underneath the trees 
Let *s be at home once more, with birds and bees 
And gnats and soil and stone. With these I must 
Acknowledge family ties. Our mother, the dust. 
With wistful and investigating eyes 
Searches my soul for the old sturdiness. 
Valor, simplicity ! Stout virtues these. 
We learned at her dear knees. 

Friend, you and I 
Once played together in the good old days. 
Do you remember ? Why, brother, down what 

wild ways 
We traveled, when — 

That 's right ! Draw close to me ! 
Come now, let 's tell the tale beneath the old 

roof-tree. 



ORA PRO NOBIS 



While I was still a child so young 
I had no words upon my tongue 

(Hail Mary.) 
They led me to a convent gray 
And here they told me I must stay 
And learn to think high thoughts and pray. 

(Hail Mary.) 

They taught me I must keep my ways 
Fresh for God's sight and fit for praise, 
As clean as angels all my days. 

(Hail Mary.) 
They taught me that my words should fall 
With silence sweet for interval, 
And that God's praise should sphere them all 
As the sky holds this earthen ball. 

(Hail Mary.) 

" And my looks too," said I, " shall they 
Not praise Him, like a child at play ? " 

" Hush^ little Daughter^'' answered they. 
And made me stitch the livelong day. 
(Hail Mary.) 



1 86 ORA PRO NOBIS 

" Let all your thoughts be sweet and mild, 
Like the wings of doves, or silver-wild 
Sing round God's heart, for thou art a child/ 
(Hail Mary.) 

Long years I dwelt in that dark hall. 
There was no mirror on the wall, 
I never saw my face at all. 

(Hail Mary.) 
In a great peace they kept me there, 
A straight white robe they had me wear. 
And the white bands about my hair. 
I did not know that I was fair. 

(Hail Mary.) 

I did not know how bright my looks 

Shone in that place like rippling brooks. 

But the gray nuns in shadowy bands 

Closed thick around me as the sands 

Lift water in their slow grave hands. 

And so I glistened all alone 

Like a water singing cheerly. 

Knowing not it sings so clearly. 

Oh, for a wild rush down the mountain ! 

Hidden in a basin of stone 

I sprang and sang like a golden fountain. 



ORA PRO NOBIS 187 

Sometimes we sewed at magic gowns 
For great gay ladies in the towns, 
Color of flame and russet browns, 

(Hail Mary.) 
StufF of blue and cloth of red 
And thin apparel for the dead, 
Stitched in and out with a lily-white thread. 

(Hail Mary.) 

Sometimes we chanted a slow hymn, 
And in the cloister, long and dim, 
We stood in ranks like lilies slim. 

(Hail Mary.) 
The pale Priest swung a starry light. 
And sometimes in my dreams at night 
The great kind angels warm and bright 
Wove me garments of delight. 

(Hail Mary.) 

Sometimes made strange with cloudlike needs 

I used to tell the Lord my beads. 

They were as beautiful as deeds 

That won the blessed saints their meeds. 

(Hail Mary.) 
When to the Crucifix I came 
I kissed it, out of love and shame, 
And then great wings would round me flame. 

(Hail Mary.) 



1 88 ORA PRO NOBIS 

Sometimes alone and vision struck 

I made black letters in a book, 

Or such a glory round them shook 

They blossomed with a flowering look. 

I wrought them round with smooth green leaves. 

Where scarlet fruitage interweaves, 

And the pale light of water-lily sheaves 

Spread a tranquil splendor under 

A warm vintage of purple and green. 

Angels' warm garments shone between, 

And mellowed with a yellowed wonder 

The rich page of the Breviary, 

Whose words stepped in a solemn tune 

Mindful of an inner rune 

As black nuns in the afternoon 

Pace a hot garden, flowered with June. 

And those dark words upon the page. 

Bound on their holy pilgrimage, 

And the brighter words that blazoned them 

round 
Uttered a strange beamy sound 
More musical than any sound — 
For all the words in the Breviary 
Were written in the praise of Mary. 
Mary Mother^ he thou kind to us^ 
In thy Heaven^ turn thy mind to us. 
Among thy angels, he not hlind to us ! 



ORA PRO NOBIS 189 

I give my perfectness to thee^ 
My innocence and virginity. 

Keep me in purity n^ 

So shall I blessed be. 
Ave Maria^ Ora Pro Nobis. 

Once I that was not wise from age 
Left a kiss upon the page. 

(Hail Mary.) 
I thought the words might bloom more rare 
If innocent kisses warmed them there. 
I did not know that I was fair. 

(Hail Mary.) 

II 

The corridor was long and lone, 
And it was flagged with shining stone, 
Polished by feet long dead and gone. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
I used to travel every night 
Those stones, and as a lily white 
Sheds petals, so my taper bright 
Reflected a slow swimming light. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

Upon one side a corridor 
Into a garden opened sweet, 



IQO ORA PRO NOBIS 

Heavy with summer, rich with heat, 
And sometimes whitened thin with sleet. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
At midnight how it used to smell 
Of rose and jasmine, and the bell 
From the high tower dropped a sound 
Sphering through the spicy dell 
Orbed and golden to the ground. 
I used to wonder, if I found it. 
With all its music wrapped around it. 
If I could keep it shaped just so, 
A star of sound in a golden glow. 

The whole year long and every night 
My bare feet traveled, silver white. 
Looking neither left nor right. 
In my hand I held a light. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
I went with oil to Mary's shrine 
To feed the blessed light divine 
That perpetually must shine. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

Of all the nuns I was the least. 
Each night I met the pale worn Priest, 
Whose fasting was his only feast, 
(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 



ORA PRO NOBIS 191 

Pacing darkly by the wall 
To the nuns' confessional, 
I could hear his footsteps fall, 
Stop at the cross, and that was all. 
(Mary, intercede for us.) 

I knew how once upon the stone 
Kissing the cross he prayed alone 
Until its pangs consumed his bone, 
And in his flesh that grief was shown. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
And now upon his hands and breast 
Christ's precious wounds were manifest. 
Making him holier than the rest. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

Three long years I faced him there 
Every night, and felt his prayer 
Shine round him like a starry air. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
He turned from me his unseeing eye 
Like one who was about to die. 
And knelt at the cross as I passed by. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

It was upon a winter's night. 
My bare feet traveled, silver white 



192 ORA PRO NOBIS 

Through fine sheer sleet that glittered bright. 

Looking neither left nor right, 

In my hand I bore a light. 

A garment spun of whirling sleet 

Wove me round from head to feet, 

I shone as in a winding sheet. 

My clinging feet left blood upon 

The sharp strange coldness of the stone. 

I drifted on without a moan. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
Before the blast my head was bent, 
I could not see which way I went. 
When at the cross I fell, clean spent. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

The Priest came staggering through the blast. 

For forty nights he kept his fast 

Even like the Christ — this was the last. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
His cast-out dreams appeared to glow, 
A pageant and a blazing show. 
Round about I saw them go. 
Fire woven in a snow. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

The visions that he drove from him 
About my eyelids, beating dim. 



ORA PRO NOBIS 193 

Like radiant vapors seemed to swim, 

And suddenly unfurled, 
The air showed in its cordial fold 
High blazoned chambers floored with gold 

Built in a magic world. 

Strong blocks of air reared musical 
Were quarried for a shining wall. 
With thrill of lute and zithern call, 
I seemed to know the names of all. 
The wind was shaped in colonnades. 
Turret and dome and long arcades. 
While blossoming fruit trees cast their shades 
Over the laughing cavalcades 
Of knights and ladies, lads and maids. 
High flowering vines reached up to clamber 

In sunlit rings to icy airs. 
Green boughs laughed out with plums and pears. 
While silvery feet of dancing fairs 
Wheeled, like white birds, down golden stairs 

To a golden paven chamber 
Whereon their footfalls shone like amber. 

The Priest beat on his breast and cried, 
" I will not see them." Barren eyed 
He stared them from him and defied. 
(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 



194 ORA PRO NOBIS 

The towers built of thought and dream 
A moment terribly did gleam, 
Then ran like water in a stream. 
(Mary, intercede for us.) 

He beat from him the beauteous net. 
About his brow the frozen sweat 
Flashed like a visor sternly set. 
(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
^' If I can reach the cross," he cried, 
'' Whereon my Lord was crucified. 
Then the whole world has been denied. 

Devil, beast, or human." 
Bleeding before the cross he knelt. 
Dimly through the snow he felt, 
And his kiss fell on me — a woman. 

The sweet chill fragrance of the snow 
More fine than lilies all aglow 
Breathed around — he saw me so. 
In garments spun of fire and snow. 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
His hands were on my face and hair. 
His high, stern eyes that would forswear 
All earthly beauty, saw me there. 
Oh, then I knew that I was fair ! 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 



ORA PRO NOBIS 195 

He drove me from him through the night. 
My bare feet traveled, silver v^^hite. 
Looking neither left nor right, 
In my hand I held a light, 

(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
I went with oil to Mary's shrine 
To feed the blessed light divine 
That perpetually must shine. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

Ill 

Great is the will and great the need 
Of him who strives against a deed. 
How often does he faint and bleed ; 
But he can crouch behind a stone. 
Or hide in barren fields alone, 
Bondsman until the hour is done. 

Sterner is the battle fought 
By him who strives against a thought. 

I knelt before the shrine that day 
Where Mary smiles on them that pray. 
Not once I let my thoughts astray. 

I kept my dreams on angels' wings. 
And oh, they were but empty things, 
Frail lights and golden vanishings. 



196 ORA PRO NOBIS 

'Twixt him and me the Holy Cup 
Pale hands of thought had lifted up, 
But lo, it broke ere I could sup. 

(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
'Twixt him and me I brought the face 
Of my dead Christ and sued for grace. 
But his looks blurred it from the place. 

(Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 

The thoughts I sent 'twixt me and him 
Like holy incense fluttered dim 

(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
A moment breathed, a fragile sheen, 
A simple blueness blown between, 
A little dimness briefly seen. 

(Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 

Oh, then I ran with battling cries, 
Beating the vision from my eyes. 
Yes, round and round in frantic wise ! 
But still that thought would seem to blow 
And drift my body like helpless snow 
In a strange shape I did not know, — 
A foolish, white, and dropping thing. 
That hurried where I would not go. 
Distraught with wandering. 



ORA PRO NOBIS 197 

Then I raised up to God my prayer, 
I swept its strong and circling air 
Betwixt me and the great despair. 

(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
But when before the sacred shrine 
I knelt to kiss the cross benign, 
Mary, I thought his lips touched mine. 

(Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 

Stepping darkly by the wall 
One and one, with slow footfall. 
We entered the confessional. 

(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
I thought that Heaven would take me in 
If so I did but speak my sin. 

(Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 

Softly to the grate I trod; 
He seemed to me more far than God ; 
My great shame scourged me like a rod. 
" Father^ I think of you all day^ 
I cannot work. I cannot pray. 
I love you. Purge my love away^ 

Then he, with eyes that saw me not. 
Spoke with pure lips that had forgot. 
(Holy Mother, pray for us.) 



198 ORA PRO NOBIS 

" Go thou to Mary's shrine to-night 
And keep with oil the eternal light, 
But ere thou goest from her sight 

(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
Take thou the fearful rods and thresh 
The forbidden dreaming from thy flesh," 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 

IV 

In the middle of the night 
My bare feet traveled, sleety white. 
Looking neither left nor right, 
In my hand 1 held a light. 

(Hail Mary.) 
I went with oil to Mary's shrine 
To feed the blessed light divine 
That perpetually must shine. 
(Mary, intercede for us.) 

Before my trembling hand could lift 
The sacred oil for her gift 

(Hail Mary.) 
I scourged my body till it leapt 
And I could hear it — how it wept. 
Then broken to her feet I crept 
And worn with that great vigil, slept. 
(Mary, intercede for us.) 



ORA PRO NOBIS 199 

When I woke, I saw his face 
Float towards me in that empty space. 
Mary's white figure, bowered in grace. 
Shone on us from her lighted place. 
(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
" Lord, keep me from this child," he cried, 
" Or it were better I had died." 
And straight, I found him at my side. 
(Mary, intercede for us.) 

My cheek upon his bosom laid, 
I saw the eternal burning fade. 
With sacred oil it was not stayed. 

(Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
I would have lighted it, but oh, 
His circling arm contained me so ! 
Dark came. I had no will to go. 

(Mary, intercede for us.) 



They scourged us round the walls of gray. 
They stoned us till the end of day. 
They drove him, where I cannot say. 

(Hail Mary.) 
They shut me in a cell of stone. 
Years and years are dead and gone 
Since I have tarried here alone. 

(Hail Mary.) 



200 ORA PRO NOBIS 

They took my new-born child away, 

I have not seen her since that day. 

What sweet prayers has she learned to say ! 

(Hail Mary.) 
There used to be a convent bell 
Dropped golden sound through a spicy dell ; 
I can remember it so well. 

(Hail Mary.) 

One time I used to go at night 
And feed with oil the virgin's light. 
Sometimes the sleet would glitter bright. 

(Hail Mary.) 
Some was blue and some was red 
And some was white to please the dead. 
We sewed it with a lily-white thread. 

(Hail Mary.) 

A jasmine grew beside the wall ; 
The moon hung like a yellow ball. 
I have never seen my face at all. 

They took him far and far away 
To a dark cell, I heard them say, 
That never sees the light of day. 
Each night at twelve they have him pray. 
(Hail Mary.) 



ORA PRO NOBIS 201 

When at that hour before the shrine 
I kiss, like him, the cross benign, 
Father in Heaven — his lips touch mine. 
(Hail Mary.) 

I have grown old and spent with age 
But still my hand is swift and sage 
To make sweet letters on a page. 
And all the words in the Breviary 
Are written in the praise of Mary. 
Mary Mother^ he thou kind to us ! 
In thy Heaven have a mind to us ! 
Among thy angels be not blind to us I 

I give my perfectness to thee^ 

My innocence and virginity^ 
Keep me in purity. 
So shall I blessed be. 

Ave Maria^ Ora Pro Nobis, 



Electrotyped and Printed hy H. O. Houghton &* Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. 



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